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Friday 2004-05-28 - Sanandaj, Iran
A learning experience
Because most of Iran is taken up by deserts and otherwise dry areas, greenery and parks are very precious to the Iranians. Everywhere we see little parks and green strips of well-tended grass along the road sides (or in the middle between lanes) where people sit with their study books or play a game of chess. Especially on a Friday evening, the many parks here in Sanandaj are alive with young people strolling, old people sitting and watching, families picnicking, barbecuing and playing, and sellers of corn roasted on charcoal doing good business.
We sit down at a table with an Iranian ‘beer’ (a non-alcoholic drink not really tasting like beer, but refreshing and not sweet like fresh drinks) and watch it all. A man and his daughter come crossing the road, heading for the kiosk where we bought our drinks; the girl stops and stays behind to watch us while her father goes on to buy a snack. She tries to talk to us, but of course we don’t understand Farsi — something that obviously amazes her. She never met people like that before. The girl, at a guess about 12 years old, keeps trying to make herself understood; when a few passing boys shout “Hello!” at us she picks up on that clue and tries “hello” as well — that works! Then she comes up with “I love you” which I answer with “I love you, too” — she’s a really lovable girl and trying so hard to communicate with more than just a smile! That exhausts her English though and she tries Farsi again. After some more failed attempts at communicating in that language she gives up and runs to her dad to tell of her experience. We see him listen to her, and obviously telling her to try some more but sensibly he stays in the background. The girl is still fascinated, and indeed comes back to us. Behind her big brown eyes her brain is visibly grinding … even the most simple sentences and words she tries, carefully enunciated for our benefit, are not understood. How can that be?
Suddenly I remember I happen to have a Lonely Planet in my bag so I take it out to see if it has something about Farsi. That works. Now she reads aloud the “common signs” written in Farsi, and together we can go over the counting words listed, and a few other words. As a result, one little girl in Iran has learned today that there are actually people who don’t understand Farsi (but can learn) and I have learned to say “goodbye” in Farsi. With a friendly (though not completely accurate) “Khodāfez!” we leave and walk back to our hotel.
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.
Sunday 2005-09-25 - Lanzhou, China
Chenglish
Surprisingly for the very punctual Chinese trains, we arrive early in Lanzhou: we’re expected at 7:13 but we’re outside already at 7:00 — our bus hasn’t arrived yet. Last year’s trick works again this year: we go to a hotel near the station where Marie Josee sweet-talks us in and we’re allowed to have breakfast there. As in Xi’an there’s no tea; no problem: Marie Josee simply walks into the kitchen and arranges tea for all.
After an excellent breakfast we find our bus waiting for us, with a very nice Tibetan driver and his wife. We drive out of Lanzhou along a very nice new motorway. The mountains around here consist of thick packets of sediment, very land-slide prone; we notice interesting constructions along the road to prevent erosion but inevitably nature is stronger than man: it’s he end of the rainy season and in two places one side of the road is blocked by a landslide which they’re busy clearing. On the mountains there are also many terraces, some just to prevent erosion many also for agriculture: some fields contain yellow-green ripening grain; bundles of herbs are drying on top of the mud walls. All along the road there are rows of newly-planted young trees.
I’m convinced the Chinese are inventing their own brand of English: Last year in our “breakfast hotel” in Lanzhou we saw an interesting example of what I call “Chenglish”; today, along the road, we see a few nice inventions as well. Although foreigners are not allowed to drive in China, surprisingly nearly all road signs are bilingual — sort of: The outside lane of the road is called a “climbing lane” and we’re warned: “Forbid to chuck jetsam”.
Wednesday 2005-09-28 - Xunhua, China
A bit of Central Asia
On our long trip to Ta’ersi we stop in Xunhua for lunch in a Muslim restaurant. The lunch is a wonderful meal, with Muslim tea, and many different dishes with mutton and chicken, vegetable dishes, and very nice local bread. Our host (we later find out his English name is Andy) also brings some apples, and tells us they’re from the family’s own apple tree, freshly harvested. Every family has one or more fruit trees in their yard, he explains.
Then he tells us about Xunhua: there are about 10,000 inhabitants here, most of them Muslims of a Turkic people who still speak their own language called Tala. Alas, the language is set to disappear: while older people speak it fluently and every day, younger people are already speaking a mix of Tala and some Chinese, in a much simpler form. At school they learn Chines, at the Koran school some Arabic, but there is no written form of Tala.
There is a famous legend about the origin of Xunhua and the people that live here.
During the great trek of Turkic peoples across Asia, this people were coming through here looking for a place to settle. Two men went looking for a good place, with a camel and a Koran, praying to God for guidance. One evening, the camel disappeared; the walked around looking for it until it was dark but still couldn’t find it so they went to sleep. The next morning they went looking again and found the camel — turned into stone, with the Koran sitting on its back — near a spring; this they took as a sign of God that this was a good place to settle.
Of course, the spring still exists, and our host Andy (who speaks excellent English and is also an official tour guide) offers to take us to the Camel Spring. We have time enough,m so we take him up on his offer. The spring water, coming from the mouth of a stone camel head, is somewhat salty and supposed to have healing properties; behind that there’s an enclosure (Andy’s father comes along to unlock the gate for us) with a nice pond and trees and flowers all around. One special type of plant grows here, and nowhere else, Andy tells us. The other flowers were planted by the Chinese who wanted to make a tourist attraction out of this spot — successfully resisted so far by the local Muslims. At the other end of the pond sits a stone camel (the stone camel) but it is much smaller than life-size. There’s another legend about that: each year the camel seems to shrink a little.
Next, Andy takes us to the Camel Spring Mosque, the 2nd largest mosque of the province, which can hold 1,500 people. We’re not allowed into the mosque proper but can have a look into the wash room, where the same camel spring water flows through. Two groups of Muslims use the mosque together: Shiites and Sunnites — the Imam is Shiite — each group prays on their own side of the mosque though. Women are not allowed in the Mosque here, they pray at home. Across the street they’re building a new much larger mosque which will hold 2,000 people.
Andy also tells us that most families here, traditionally very big, now have an average of four children — simply ignoring government regulations. Families used to be a lot larger than that: in his parents’ generation families had nine to twelve children.
Friday 2005-09-30 - Xining, China
Shopping day: return the true flavour
Our stay in Xining is mostly a shopping day: tonight we will leave for our long overland trip to Lhasa, getting on the night train tonight and then continuing by sleeper bus tomorrow on the first of October: the national holiday in China. This implies that all banks will be closed for a week so we’ll need to make sure we have enough money for at least a week; we’ll also need to stock up on food for on the bus — there will be no occasion to properly eat during the long ride.
After going to the bank (five stops with bus no. 2 from the small branch of the Bank of China we found first but which does not handle any foreign currency) I go to the food market we passed last night when we arrived, just a block from our hotel. It’s a nice market and I first spend some time walking around and taking some pictures. On a small cart I notice some roots, one cut through to display the interior with red veins; I immediately recognize the “radish” that was used to decorate our lunch in Ta’ersi yesterday. That will be nice to nibble on on the bus but I have a little problem to make clear I only want a small one, not the largest, nicest one they want me to have; it costs all of 0.6Ұ! Back at the beginning of the market I buy some fruit, finding that buying just two bananas isn’t all that simple either…
Across the street from the hotel is a large supermarket where I stock up on other munchies, such as my favorite Chinese travel snack: jelly pudding with fruit. I also find crackers with spring onions (sounds nice) and whole-wheat biscuits, one kind with vegetables mixed in; both are from a brand that apparently specializes in “health food”.
The biscuits provide another nice example not only of “Chenglish” but also of modern Chinese culture: having English text (or just Latin characters) on packaging (and clothing for that matter) is not just for tourists but simply very fashionable. The actual text on my purchases also exemplifies the Chinese marketing style.
My crackers with spring onions are described as “DALIYUAN FRAGRA-ONION SODA BISCUITS” and recommended with:
GOOD TASTE FOR LARGE MASSES SERIES HIGH FOODSTUFF DELICACIES LOVED BY ALL CHOICENESS RAW
THEY ARE IDEAL FOR YOUR RELAXATION, BREAKFAST AND TO TAKE WITH YOU ON YOUR DAY OUT
The “HIGH FIBER LOW SUGAR VEGETABLE BISCUITS” sound even better:
WE LIKE THE NEW TASTE.WE NEED THE QUALITY AND WE
NEED THE BEST FOOD.HERE YOU WILL FIND WHAT YOU WANT.COOL FASHION
NEED COOL TASTE.YOU ARE THE NEW MAN.HOW DELICIOUS CAN
NOT FORGET,SPECIAL TASTE,RETURN THE TRUE FLAVOUR.
Now how do I return that flavour? By email?
Wednesday 2007-04-11 - Al Mukalla, Yemen
“Five minutes”
On my way to the old city of Al Mukalla I had already spotted an Internet shop (you can’t call these places Internet cafe here, there are just computers with Internet access, no drinks or food is sold) but now after my walk I find it closed. A man standing outside his shop next door tells me “five minutes, just wait”. Ah, now it dawns on me: on my way here I heard the Muezzin calling for prayer, so it’s prayer time — many shops temporary close then. So I stand and wait patiently, just watching people. Other people come and feel at the door, finding it closed; some leave, some also stand around to wait. Finally, at least 15 minutes later, a young man walks straight up to the door, unlocks it and turns on more lights. I walk in and ask how much Internet costs. “Internet?” he asks, “next door”. Soon the source of my confusion becomes clear: there’s a single sign advertising both Internet and international phone service, a common combination here, over two doors; except in this case there are two separate shops under the sign, each with their own door. The blue metal doors next to the telephone service are firmly closed.
Meanwhile, at the other side of the telecom business, a group of men has gathered, like men gather here after prayer time. “Sit down, five minutes,” says the owner of the shop in front of which they’re sitting on plastic chairs. He points to a chair which is still free. I thank him and sit down, knowing full well by now that these “five minutes” probably won’t be five minutes either. The men chat, I watch them and passers-by, passers-by look at me curiously, but no one bothers me. Some 10 minutes later, the shop owner orders tea from the restaurant across the street; when it arrives, there’s one cup for me too. So I sit, contentedly sipping my tea, and waiting some more. No movement at the blue doors hiding the Internet shop.
Finally, tea long finished, I give up. “Is there any chance it will still open tonight?” I ask my host. He raises his shoulders and arms in a “no idea” gesture. When I get up he tells me there’s another place and points across the street. He also gestures to the man sitting next to me, saying something to him in Arabic. Should he go get someone? Take me there? I’m confused, so I just thank my host, take my leave, and cross the street — where I only see a restaurant. I walk in, and ask for Internet; predictably they point across the street. “Finished,” I say, using the English word Yemenis often use for “closed”, accompanied by the appropriate hand sign. Then I see the man who was sitting next to me crossing the street, laughing and beckoning me. He takes me through a covered little street, crowded with restaurants on both sides; we end up at a little square. Sure enough, across the square is another Internet shop, only Arabic text on its sign but the machines have the usual Arabic-and-English keyboards and I have no problem updating my blog from here.
Thursday 2007-04-12 - Al Mukalla, Yemen
“Mumkin?”
I’m getting up early today: after visiting the old town of Al Mukalla yesterday, I want to see some more of the new town today before we leave - we only had a glimpse yesterday when we arrived. As soon as it gets light I go out and walk along the sea-side boulevard in the direction of the new town. Sooner than expected, I see the old Sultan’s Palace which marks the end of the old town. A little farther on, the road goes over a bridge across a sea arm that goes right into the town; a nice boulevard is on each side, and there are several pedestrian bridges across it. There is even a fountain (spouting sea water!) in the middle. I go and sit on one of the benches that for now are still in the shade, and just watch — it’s a very pleasant area — enjoying one of the few moments of relaxation during this trip.
I’ve been picking up some useful phrases of Yemeni Arabic (partly with the help of my little language guide) — simple things like la (no), aiwa (yes), shukran (thank you), some greetings. Another useful phrase is mumkin sura? (may I take a picture?) — sura means picture, mumkin? a general “may I…?”: one doesn’t just take a picture of people here in Yemen — especially not of women — but asking politely often gets permission, at least from men and small children. With women it’s more complicated: even if they give permission (rarely), the husband may not allow it and you can’t take the picture anyway or the woman may get into trouble with her husband; the other way round happens, too: a woman saying no while her husband say yes — in which case of course you respect the woman’s wishes.
Now, while I sit on the bench watching the fountain and the pedestrian bridge a little farther away, in the sun by now, as the sun slowly rises above the mountain, two women come walking along the boulevard, cheerfully saying “Hello!” to me (in English). When they’re 30m past me, they suddenly stop; one of them makes a “photo” gesture in front of her eyes and asks: “Mumkin?” It takes a second or two before it sinks in that she is asking me to have her picture taken. But of course! Quickly, they come walking back, and the woman crouches half in front of me and quickly takes off her niqab, revealing a friendly face with very beautiful brown eyes. The light on her face is just right. When I show her the portrait, she’s quite happy, and thanks me with her hand on her heart — quickly flipping her niqab back again: a man is approaching us.
Sometimes I wonder: why are people asking to have their picture taken while not asking to have it sent to them? With children, it must be the excitement of the procedure and of seeing their own face on the magic little box. But grown-ups — just so they’ll know they’ll be remembered? I’ll certainly remember this friendly young woman with the beautiful eyes in Al Mukalla. Such a pity we can’t chat.
