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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!
Saturday 2004-06-05 - Neyriz, Iran
Salt lakes
On the way to Shirāz, a very long trip today, we pass several large salt lakes. Just past Neyriz where the road winds through the mountains over two passes, there’s a beautiful view of enormous Lake Bakhtegān (Daryācheh-ye-Bakhtegān) and we stop for pictures. A wide fringe of the lake is white with encrusted salt which is mined here — before we stopped we saw many large sheds and big piles of white salt.
Further on, some 20 km before Shirāz, we make another stop near teh much smaller Lake Mahārlu where the road comes near the shore. A couple of avocets are feeding in the shallow water near the shore, but fly up when we approach over the salt-encrusted mud. Salt is mined at this lake, too (at the south end) though at a much smaller scale than at Lake Bakhtegān.
Friday 2004-06-18 - Samarkand, Uzbekistan
Shaken awake
At 4:44 I wake up because my bed is gently, and quite regularly, shaking. Carla is still fast asleep — it’s not from her tossing around. I know immediately: this is an earthquake, but probably at a distance. Later, we hear others have felt it, too, and some of the men in the hotel confirm: yes there was an earthquake this morning; not an uncommon event here, as demonstrated by the cracks in the walls of some buildings (including the Registan and our hotel). They don’t know where exactly it was, but usually it’s earthquakes in Afghanistan that are felt here in Samarkand, they tell us.
Monday 2004-06-21 - Toktogul, Kyrgyzstan
An uncomfortable feeling
After breakfast in a separate building on the sanatorium grounds (also rented out for weddings and other occasions) our camping trip really starts. From Osh the “truck bus” takes us north along the new road around the corner of Uzbekistan that pushes into Kyrgyzstan here: the old main road went right through that bit but is no longer used as a main connection after the independence of the Central Asian states: two border crossings aren’t all that efficient for the mainly freight transport that goes along the road between Osh and the capital Bishkek. We make a short stop at Uzgen where there’s a complex with an old minaret from the middle of the 11th century, with beautiful brickwork decorations, and two tombs, still being restored. Then we go on. In this fertile area there’s a lot of agriculture: cotton, maize, onions, sunflowers and rice - and more that I don’t recognize from the truck.
A little later we turn north into the Naryn valley: the valley is narrow but the river is wide here thanks to a number of dams. The Toktogul basin, our goal for today, is one of the main reservoirs used for hydro-electric power — power from the dams is Kyrgyzstan’s major export product.
It had been dark for a while already, and now it starts to rain. That is probably the trigger: I suddenly start to feel very uncomfortable. This is landslide country and although with this light rain on still-dry ground there’s no real risk I can’t shake the feeling; the signs of past landslides are all around: big rubble cones right up to the road on one side, rubble cleared away by bulldozers on the other. It’s mainly the memories this brings back: we not only got stuck right here three years ago as a result of two landslides, I’ve seen my share of even bigger ones in Northern Pakistan, Tibet and Nepal as well, one covering several houses.
In spite of my discomfort I can’t help admiring the mountains which show a spectacular range of colors here, from gray-green to bright yellow, warm red and a dark, almost purple color, sometimes in striking combinations in the layers — all that contrasting with the bright blue-green color of the water of the Naryn here. Still, I don’t really cheer up until we leave the river valley and a while later reach our first camping spot on the southern shore of Lake Toktogul. We’re camping right on the stony beach (which turns out to be very bad for my hurt foot) and enjoy a beautiful sunset over the lake.
Tuesday 2004-06-22 - Ala Bel, Kyrgyzstan
Photographs not delivered
We have to make an early start today for a long trip: up at 5, breakfast at 6, departure at 7. First we round Lake Toktogul around the eastern tip and switch back along the northern side; then gradually north and up toward Ala Bel (the Ala pass) at 3175 m where I photographed a nomad family in the snow three years ago. On the way to the pass I notice how at this time of the year there are indeed a lot more flowers than later in summer. The mountains look ‘painted’ with brush strokes of bright colors - most striking is the bright orange of a type of Ranunculus with fairly large flowers, usually just a bit higher up the mountains than the related warm-yellow buttercup which is also abundant now.
At the pass, we stop at the first yurt. Although there’s no snow this time, it’s still pretty cold this high up. With the help of our interpreter Bolot the friendly family that lives there in the summer tells me the friendly old Kirghiz on his horse in the snow in one of my pictures has died; his wife (in the other picture) still lives though and is in a yurt “2 kilometers” farther on. That turns out to be too vague: at that distance there are actually a lot of families in yurts; we don’t have time to stop at all of them to search for her. I’m very disappointed, knowing she is here while there is no way to deliver the photographs.
Tuesday 2004-06-22 - Susamyr, Kyrgyzstan
Bzzzz!
Along the way to our camping spot in the valley of the Susamyr, we make a short stop at a particularly beautiful and interesting cemetery. In Kyrgyz tradition, it’s far from habitation, located at a beautiful spot. Most tombs here are made of mud brick: built once, sometimes with an intricate design, but then left to slowly dissolve back into the landscape again. The tombs here have an extra dimension though: when you enter the cemetery, the constant loud buzzing is unmistakable. A large colony of wasps lives here, having made their nests inside the bud-brick walls (thus helping to dissolve them). They fly on and off in large numbers but don’t mind or bother the humans visiting here at all; they fly by so fast in fact, it’s hard to really get to see them, let alone get them on a picture (though I try, of course).
Our camping spot is a kilometer further on, a nice shaded spot under the trees, and most of us walk there from the cemetery. My foot feels OK, so I walk as well, but when I arrive I discover I have to cross a little brook to reach the camping site: there are stepping stones which I would normally easily hop over — but with my wounded foot I can’t manage (an my monopod-walking stick is in the truck: already at the camp site). I can’t find a sturdy enough branch to serve as walking stick either; I’m stuck! Ultimately Thom finds me and helps me across. Our cook Tatiana cooks us a lovely dinner of soup and macaroni.
Wednesday 2004-06-23 - Song Köl, Kyrgyzstan
Coal and cold
Today we pass through some of the most beautiful landscapes of Kyrgyzstan that I know. At first we continue along the main road from Osh to Bishkek. Then we make a short shopping stop in Chayek (where I buy a nice shawl); this is the last occasion to shop for now: we turn off the main road onto the track that will take us to Song Köl. The track first goes through a valley but soon starts to wind higher and higher into the mountains; on the road we start to see chunks of coal and their origin soon becomes clear: high up in the mountains there’s a huge open-face coal mine — a desolate place in the middle of beautiful mountains where the workers live in old railroad wagons near the mine. This settlement (one cannot call it a village) is called Kara Kichi; we have a photo stop to record the ugliness. Once past the mine we go over a high pass and a little further on we make another short stop: nearby horses are grazing in meadows full of flowers and in the distance we can see glimmering Lake Song Köl: our target for today.
To get to the lake, we take a side track, then an even smaller track through a river bed. Here it becomes really clear why we have a “truck bus” instead of an ordinary bus: it would not make it through this terrain. The truck bus, like a bus built on top of the chassis of a heavy truck with very big wheels, has no problems with it though; such vehicles were (in Soviet times) originally used either by the military or to transport workers to the factories; now they’re very much part of the fledgling tourist industry in this country.
When we arrive at the lake we stop near a yurt to have our picnic lunch. The woman who lives in the yurt (she welcomes us traditionally with fresh bread and cream) recognizes the family in the pictures I took here two years ago: their yurt is a distance away, but maybe I can walk over there this afternoon.
In summer, grazing is good on the meadows around the lake (a nature reserve) and many nomads bring their horses here then. However, the lake never completely freezes and in winter fishermen camp out here in the harsh cold to fish the lake. Lots of birds also take advantage of the fish in the lake. Unfortunately, it’s so cold now (like it often is around the lake, even in summer), we decide to move on and camp in the valley across the mountains where it will be a lot warmer. Alas, that means I won’t be able to deliver my next set of photographs either.
We go back along the side tracks and continue on the main track again which soon takes us into the mountains up to another high pass. There’s a very steep descent with a spectacular road winding down the face of the mountain: some of the turns are so narrow, the truck can’t round them at once. The pass marks a striking change in landscape: while the high plain around the lake is completely bare of trees and even shrubs, right from the pass we see a landscape with mountain sides dotted with shrubs and trees, both deciduous and coniferous. During the steep descent, the changes in vegetation are remarkable, too: buttercups are replaced by white clover; small compact alpine plants are replaced by big sturdy ones; flowering wild roses appear farther down. Our camp is a way into the valley, where we ford the river to reach our camping spot: no problem for the truck but not so easy for humans to get through! Next to our tent is a small meadow with lots of purple orchids, and in the field between our tents are lots of bunches of blue irises (probably Iris germanica): a lovely spot to camp!
Thursday 2004-06-24 - Tash Rabat, Kyrgyzstan
River valleys
Our trip today takes us through a variety of beautiful river valleys. The valley where we camped soon widens; this river is a tributary to the Naryn river which we follow east (upstream) after crossing it over a long bridge. The Naryn valley is very wide here and fertile; mountains on each side are of sandstone and thick packs of sediment, with colors ranging from a pale sandy to dark red.
We make a stop to shop on the market in Naryn, capital of the province of Naryn, both named after the river. Naryn is a regional center, and the only decent-sized town in a large area. There’s a lot of unemployment here though since the factories that employed a lot of inhabitants were closed when the Soviets left after independence. Still, the town does look a little less depressed than two years ago, with buildings clearly in better repair — maybe the economy is picking up a bit? I notice the trolley busses are still going: they have one for each direction on the long central road in this longitudinal town streched along the river (and keep a third one as a spare). But people at the market look sombre and aren’t as friendly as I remember. Others in our group notice the slightly unfriendly atmosphere as well - it’s not just me. We never find out the reason for this atmosphere, but this isn’t Naryn as I remember it. Strange.
After Naryn we turn south again and pass yet another mountain range over the Kyzyl Bel, called “Red Pass” because these mountains consist completely of red sandstone and clay. Soon after the pass, we turn into another wide river valley, first with a lot of agriculture supporting Naryn (we see a lot of fields with bright pink flowers again, which I think must be buckwheat) but later turning into sparse meadows where nomads herd their flocks. Constantly accompanying us on the left now is the long At-Bashi range with snow-capped mountains. Finally we reach the side track which takes us into another narrow valley where — at the end of the 15 km road and the end of the valley — is the building called Tash Rabat.
Friday 2004-06-25 - Torugart Pass, Kyrgyzstan
Wildlife
We’re leaving at eight for the border crossing over the Torugart Pass - “Much too late” I’m thinking to myself and alas I turn out to be right. First we go back along the 15 km track to the ‘main’ road to China which we follow farther up. The road is very bad, even for an all-weather road, but most traffic here consists only of trucks transporting old iron to China (another export ‘product’ of Kyrgyzstan of which they have plenty with all the factories that were closed after independence while China is eager for it for its growing industry). The rest of the traffic consists of tourists, of course, and precious little else.
In the valley near Tash Rabat I noticed one of the mountains was riddled with holes; nests of ground squirrels, I suspect, but I didn’t see any there. However back on the main road I do see many ground squirrels, mostly sunning themselves on the mounds of sand next to their burrows, not paying much attention to our passing truck. There are two kinds of them here, one a lot bigger than the other — I see a lot less of the smaller ones, but maybe they’re just more shy. I suspect these are the same species that live on the high plains between China and Pakistan but I don’t know the names of these species (yet).
Because of the bad condition of the road it takes us a long time to reach the passport check before the actual Kirghiz border; we finally reach the main building at 11:45 — the border closes at noon! Border formalities at the Kyrgyzstan border post are simple and quick though - seemingly smoother each year. The truck is allowed to take us right up to the pathetic little pillar now marking the border, replacing the original monumental gate building at 3752 m. The landmark gate was taken down by the Chinese a few years ago when they claimed another 7.5 m of territory — a move not so good for international tourism. We say goodbye to our team; on the other side of the gate our Chinese bus is already waiting for us (well, we’re late: it must have been here more than an hour already).
Tuesday 2005-09-27 - Bajiao, China
To the Ganjia grasslands
We’re having a slight change in our program: because the weather is rather cold and at times rainy, staying in a nomad’s tent (or army tent, as another group found themselves in) is not really an attractive prospect. Instead, we’re staying another night in our nice Overseas Tibetan Hotel in Xiahe and go for a day trip to the Ganjia grasslands today.
Our bus is on time but we leave a little late; shortly after leaving Xiahe we leave the main road and turn left onto a all-weather road in a narrow river valley. After less than a kilometer the driver suddenly stops, and starts to turn on the narrow road — a rather hairy maneuver, but he has good control of the bus. We wonder if he took a wrong turn but he goes straight back to town and turns into a gas station: he had forgotten to get gas! (Part of the reason is that bus drivers in China don’t carry a lot of money so he couldn’t have tanked before picking us up: they usually have to get the rest for the bus before they can buy gas.)
Then we turn back and turn into the same all-weather road again which takes us over a pass and then into a much wider landscape with grassy plains and hills surrounded by grass-covered low mountains. There are no trees anywhere, only coarse tufts of grass at times interspersed with the plumes of flowering long grass; it looks rather desolate but there is actually a surprising number of villages. The people keep cattle (with some yak blood), large herds of long-horned sheep and sometimes small herds of goats. There are birds, too — at one time I notice a number of pheasants, and on the electricity poles at times we see a big raptor, which at first we can’t put a name on. Then we see one flying up as the bus approaches: it’s a huge buzzard-like bird which Eelko finds in his bird book: an Upland Buzzard (Buteo sp.), much larger than our European buzzards (Buteo) and very impressive. Near the villages there is also some agriculture, mainly grain; people are busily harvesting everywhere.
Saturday 2007-04-07 - Marib, Yemen
Through the sands
It’s still fully dark when we leave the hotel grounds through the guarded gate and drive through Marib but the town is lively with lots of men walking along the streets on their way to the mosque, or their work: the day starts early in Yemen. When we’ve passed the checkpost on the edge of town, our driver Mohamed raises his hands: “Free again!”.
Once outside the town, we can vaguely see the desert in the gray morning light: Small sand dunes with sparse vegetation, an occasional little tree. Then, quite suddenly, all vegetation is gone and all we see in the little light is smallish sand dunes lying in a surprisingly flat plain. In the distance we can vaguely see some mountain ranges. Farther on, we note Marib’s oil field at Safir: the flames can be seen from very far away; this flaring off of the gas will likely stop once the pipeline and the LNG liquefaction plant on the coast will be ready. Next to the oil field we make a short stop for pictures of the rising sun above the desert — the haze through which it rises is dust, not humidity.
A little later we stop at a little shop where we can sit inside (on the floor) to eat the picnick breakfast we brought along: bread, cheese and jam; the shop serves tea with it. In the distance, I see a mountain with its top in what looks like a cloud — it must be a layer of air laden with dust. We also meet our Bedouin guide here: he’s going to accompany us through the desert in his pickup truck. Under his guidance, our drivers let air out of their tires, so they’ll have more grip on the loose sand. Then we leave, and turn off the asphalt road, straight into the desert — at first along a clear trail.
Navigating the desert
It seems as if there is nothing here to orient yourself by, but that is deceptive. First, of course, there’s the sun, and if you know the time of day, you know the approximate compass directions; then there is the mountain range on the left that’s been accompanying us since we left Marib: if you know the shapes of the mountains, you can use them as landmarks; finally, there’s the terrain itself, with varying combinations of sand and sometimes a top layer of pebbles, now reddish brown, then black. Just like we can see the difference between walking over grass and moss, a Bedouin must be able to use similar clues in the terrain here. I imagine it’s like navigating a city where you know the landmarks — except these landmarks are very different in nature.
Sometimes it’s hard to see what’s in the distance: the air heats up fast now the sun is up, and the shimmering hot air creates reflections, hiding a strip just below the horizon. It doesn’t quite look like water, but something — half hidden — is behind it, making it hard to recognize: sometimes mountains, I think; at other times it turns out to be sparse little trees much closer by.
Until now, we were still following a track, but now we’re leaving that, too, and drive over loose sand. One of our three drivers, Hussein, soon gets into trouble: his tires are narrower than those of the other cars, and his four-wheel drive doesn’t work. Our guide proves his worth: he soon notices the trouble and comes back. More air is let out of the tires, and some pushing gets the car afloat again. The passengers are distributed over the other cars, our tour companion Marie Josee getting into the truck with our guide. The sand is almost bare here, there’s only a little shrub here or there, mostly in the lee of a sand dune, occasionally an even rarer little tree. Still we see the same mountain range on our left, now a little closer, then a little farther away; it consists mostly of table mountains, sometimes weirdly shaped by erosion. Every now and then there’s a “crossroads”: a trail in the sand which we cross.
back on the road
At last we get back on the asphalt road and turn right: we’ve cut off quite a distance by going through the sands instead of staying on the new road. Soon after we stop for tea. Several little boys are hanging around, begging us to be photographed.
Tuesday 2007-04-10 - Mashhad Ali, Yemen
Holy men of the Hadramawt
Near Tarim we already saw the tomb of Ahmad bin Assa and his son (from the outside). But there were many holy men in this area: it’s actually famous (or infamous, depending on your point of view) for it. The point is that the concept of holy men, saints, or any intermediary between one person and God (Allah) is foreign to Islam. But in this area there were indeed holy men who did act as a kind of intermediary — as legends have it, some even after their death. So their tombs are considered holy places here, and draw pilgrims at certain times of the year.
Today we are going to see more of that: we are going to Wadi Do’an and to reach it we have to first drive all the way back from Wadi ’Adim to the main road from Sey’un to Al Mukalla, then turn off into Wadi Do’an: that’s because both these wadis are actually tributaries of the Wadi Hadramawt. On the way, we have lunch at the junction in Hawra’ again, this time downstairs; it may be coincidence, but the food tastes a lot better than last time when we ate upstairs in the tourists room.
A little south of Hawra’ we turn right into Wadi Do’an. In the first village we pass through, Mashhad Ali, our driver Khamal stops and shows us something special: “A chewing gum tree,” he says. Sure enough, the tree secretes some resin from the stem; you can pry it off and chew it. Marie Josee tries it and confirms it does taste like chewing gum. Then we note that the other cars have stopped a little farther on next to a small mosque, which Khamal thought was closed.
In fact, the mosque proper is closed (to us at least) but there is a room with four graves in it, and its door is open. More Hadramawt holy men lie buried here: The Sai’ed Ali bin Hassan, his two sons and his grandson. We are allowed to visit the tomb. Unfortunately, only one of the wooden shrines is uncovered, the others are wrapped in green cloth (possibly to protect them); the wood is decorated with simple but beautiful geometric carvings.
The tiny village of Mashhad Ali has become a pilgrim’s village; the number of houses is deceptive: most stand empty at this moment and serve only to house the pilgrims when they come. But these pilgrimages, and the reverence for these holy men is looked upon unfavorably by the Wahabites, another branch of Islam (and state religion in Saudi Arabia). In my guidebook I read that next to the tomb with the four shrines we could have a peek in, there’s another room with more graves, but their grave stones were demolished by Wahabites who condemn the reverence of these holy men.
