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Saturday 2004-05-08 - Amsterdam, the Netherlands
Near disaster!
Taxi was ordered for 4:30 am but the driver rings already five minutes earlier than that; I’m not quite ready. Still, I grab my bags and hop in; with very little traffic we’re soon at the airport. Five minutes later I suddenly say “Oh s**t!” - I have a backpack full of films but don’t have my camera!
I rush outside and ask the first taxi driver I see if he can get me to Amsterdam and back at Schiphol airport again before 5:50. No problem he says. So we go home, I grab my camera, and back to the airport. The driver jokes that for the price of this ride, I could buy a camera — well, yes, but not this one! We still make it back with time to spare. Disaster avoided.
Saturday 2004-05-08 - Vienna, Austria
Are we going to stay here?
We arrive a little late in Vienna where we need to change planes, but the gate is right “next door”. The man behind the counter won’t let us through, though: we don’t have a Syrian visa, and he can’t let us board without one, he says. Our tour companion argues with him that we’ll get the visa on arrival in Damascus but it takes ten minutes before she has convinced him it’s OK and he’s prepared to let us through…
Tuesday 2004-05-11 - Damascus - Palmyra, Syria
We’re moving!
Today, we really start moving across Asia. Leaving at eight, we first have to get out of the city: now we see how big Damascus, with a population of 3.5 million inhabitants, really is.
When we’re finally out, we’re in the desert. Mostly barren mountains on our left, an almost flat plain on the right. Sparse plants, sometimes little clumps of bright-red poppies along the road side, purple thistles, other flowers that I don’t recognize. Sometimes small flocks of sheep and some goats, with the herder often often seated on the back of a donkey. Some people sleep on the bus — I almost never do and I love desert landscapes! Of course, as is often the case, when we stop for a drink (‘Bagdad Cafe’) the flowers I wanted to take a picture of are nowhere in sight.
Before noon we’re in Palmyra, already seeing some of the temple ruins before we enter.
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.
Friday 2004-05-21 - Silvan, Turkey
Peek into the middle ages
Today is a travel day: we go to Van. The landscape upon leaving Diyarbakır is getting more and more mountainous, and we seem to be climbing gradually as well. The mountains are beautiful, and there are many spring flowers — sitting in the bus and looking out is no punishment.
Just after Silvan I notice some holes in the rocks high up in the mountains on the left just when others shout “stop” for a picture of the beautiful view over the valley on the right. I walk resolutely back to get the holes in the rocks back into view and to take a picture. It turns out my hunch was right: these were rock dwellings, dating back to the middle ages. A few of us walk all the way up to them and manage to look inside one of the holes but (as expected) they’re completely bare. Building rock dwellings so high up inside a steep mountain side must have been a form of defense, I think — though simpler than building a citadel on top of a mountain. Maybe they were farmers rather than city dwellers here.
Somewhat farther on there is a big dam on the left of the road; on the right is a large bridge with one very high arch, built in 1147; it’s well-preserved: you can walk over it (no other traffic allowed though). The size of the bridge is impressive, and it has some nice decorations in the stonework as well. The water below is a beautiful blue-green, cows are drinking and bathing in the water below. We spend quite a bit of time enjoying the view here, before we go on to Van, passing over the highest mountain pass in Turkey, Kuskunkıran, at 2235 m high. The view of the Lake of Van we soon get is stunning: blue-green water, surrounded on all sides with snow-capped mountain ranges.
Wednesday 2004-05-26 - Kandovān, Iran
Delays
We’re headed for Takāb today but we’re making a side trip to Kandovān first. Unfortunately, we leave much too late, and in Osku, a little before we reach Kandovān, we get another delay: there’s a big hole in the road and our “best bus in Iran” is much too large to be able to pass the hole in a bend, with the hole at one side and a steep channel at the other side. There’s nothing for it: the hole has to be filled first! The hole is part of a lot of digging going on all through the village; they’re building a natural gas pipeline here.
Kandovān is a bit touristy, but most of the tourists are from inside Iran: Kandovān is famous for its water which is supposed to have healing properties. Young couples often come here for that reason: the water is supposed to help with fertility problems.
Also interesting are the houses on the mountainside, many of them hewn into the rock so it’s always cool inside — much like similar houses in Cappadocia in Turkey. We drink tea in one of the houses and get a taste of local produce: dried apricots, plums, walnuts, almonds, and a delicious honey of which I would have liked to bring a pot home… not possible on this trip.
On the way back we see what we already feared: the hole in the road is not only back - it’s much bigger now! And of course has to be filled yet again. We’re running late…
Saturday 2004-06-12 - Bājgirān, Iran
Border formalities
We leave Mashhad at six - without breakfast - since we want to be early at the border so we won’t have to wait all day. When we are a little outside the city, our guide, Hassan, manages to produce tea, fresh bread and cheese on the bus, so our stomachs aren’t rumbling. At 10 we’re at the border at Bājgirān and the long wait starts. Leaving Iran is no problem, entering Turkmenistan a bit of a hassle. The passport check just after the Iranian exit gate is easy enough but then we need to wait for our bus to pick us up and take us to the actual Turkmen border post. Finally our guide, Bava, appears — without the bus: it was not allowed to go through till the gate. In two shifts we go in a minibus taxi to the customs check. The driver goes at a crazy speed along the winding mountain road, laughing at our worried looks, refusing to slow down.
We’ve heard stories about Turkmen border officials, so we insist we won’t enter the customs building until we’re all together; then we go one by one, with our guide and our tour companion watching, keeping in mind the stories about border officials grabbing what they could. Apart from a lot of hassle with all the forms, stamps and counter stamps, it all goes surprisingly easy though: the officers (half of them women) are friendly and actually check only a few bags. My load of films (more than 100 in lead-lined bags) causes mainly amazement: “Are these all yours?” - “Yes” - “How many used?” - “About half” - “OK.” The serial number of my camera is noted on the declaration form. A cursory glance and poke at the inside of my big bag, and that’s all. Still, since we do it all one by one, bag by single bag, it takes a long time.
Saturday 2004-06-12 - Iran, Iran
Iran observations
Many of the things we see and experience in Iran are not specific to any locality but remarkable enough, I think, to make a note of. So, at the end of our trip through Iran here are some of the things I noted along the way and wanted to tell you about:
- Infrastructure
- Immediately after crossing the border from Turkey the change is apparent: infrastructure here is much better developed than in (Eastern) Turkey. Power and phone lines (above-ground) are well-maintained (we see not a single sagging pole). Roads are generally in good repair, not just being well-maintained but constantly improved as well: we see road works in many places, often to turn the (still) mostly two-lane roads into four-lane or even wider highways. There’s also Internet access in many places (far more than I expected) with no apparent restrictions.
- Traffic
- A big surprise is that many road signs are bilingual: not just the directional signs pointing to cities with the name in Farsi as well as a transliteration in roman script; we also see signs like: “reduce speed,” “use low gear” (on mountain roads), “fasten seat belts,” etc. Along some roads also a nice illustration that this mostly hot and dry country (as we experience it now) can also be very cold in winter: we see many road signs warning graphically that snow chains may be needed. Also remarkable is that in many cities, as well as at checkpoints, road bumps are used to slow traffic down; most are of a standardized design so it’s rather easy to learn how to negotiate them (unlike the confusing variety of road bumps we have in the Netherlands).
- Motorbikes
- Motorbikes of all sorts are extremely popular here, and not just with the young ones. One can see whole families on a motorbike: father riding, child in front, mum behind, a small child between them, and an older child at the back. Almost no one wears a helmet - I expect it’s only a matter of time before they become compulsory though, given the obvious growth rate of the number of bikes…
- Energy
- This country has a lot of oil and natural gas - and yet we see many signs of energy being saved. In some hotel rooms we had a fridge, nearly always of an energy-efficient type. Most light bulbs (in use and on sale) are of the fluorescent type; there’s a dazzling variety of them. We even see gas lamps in many places - possible emergency lighting but they’re not antiques: they’re in obvious working condition, have been used, and in one place I saw them burning, too. They’re also extending their network of natural gas pipelines — not just for export but more use of their own gas is planned as well (it’s certainly more energy-efficient to use natural gas as a direct energy source than burning it to produce electricity).
- Iran-Iraq war
- During this war which lasted nearly ten years (1980-1988) there were very many casualties. Every village, town and city has their own martyrs of the war, who are commemorated with billboards with their portraits, usually placed at the entrance of a town. The many dead soldiers left behind many widows and orphans and collection boxes were set up all over the country for donations to support them; they still exist, but are now intended for helping the poor. The system works, since every Muslim is supposed to spend 5% of their income on helping the poor; the boxes form an efficient means to channel such donations.
- Greenery
- In a mostly dry country with two huge deserts it’s understandable that greenery and flowers are cherished. We see new trees being planted alongside many new or improved roads; in the cities roads are lined with trees, shrubs and flowers, well-watered. There are many well-maintained parks everywhere, with trees providing shade, used intensively for relaxation, picnicking, or study; especially at the end of a working day there’s always people sitting around on the grass.Some parks even have special paved circles for picnicking. There are flower shops and (small) garden centers as well, where fresh flowers and potted plants are sold, much like in the Netherlands. Iran’s national flower is the rose; rose leaves are sold on the market and rose water is used to flavor many dishes.
- Mecca
- In every hotel room (in fact, starting with the one just before the Iranian border in Turkey) there’s not just a prayer rug and clay tablet provided, but there’s always an arrow stuck on one of the walls helpfully indicating the direction of Mecca so the guest can adopt the correct orientation for praying. (We found a Koran in only one of the hotels rooms, however.)
- Water
- Everywhere in the cities there are public water tanks with drinking water, with one or a few taps, and usually with drinking cups (metal or plastic) on a chain or a string provided as well. They usually take the shape of a simple plastic or stainless-steel tank and are sometimes provided by shopkeepers, and often by the city; at times they have a quite elaborate wrought-iron fence around them. The contents are always tap water (quite safe and drinkable in Iran though sometimes with a faint chlorine taste), topped up during the day when necessary. Since it’s always hot in the cities during the summer, many people use these for a quick drink - a habit easy to take up (after getting used to the water, of course).
- Food and drink
- Many new taste experiences here, some of which I’ll try to ‘take
home’ (either by imitation if possible, or by trying to get them or the
necessary ingredients at one of the Iranian supermarkets in Amsterdam):
- Dūg
- A refreshing drink made of yogurt and water (still or sparkling). Sold in bottles as a fresh drink everywhere, sometimes fresh - the best: at one place we had a large 1.5 liter can which cost just 5000 IR: about 0.50 EUR. An acquired taste (most people in our group didn’t like it) but I’m going to try this at home! In principle, all you do is mix yogurt and water and let it stand in the fridge.
- Barley soup
- Based on chicken stock, some vegetables added (carrots and tomatoes are usually present but other vegetables can be used as well), thickened with barley. Many variations, but always delicious. A cup of barley soup and a small bottle of dūg make a healthy lunch; in fact this was what my first lunch in Iran consisted of.
- Faludeh
- The major discovery for someone like me who doesn’t like ice cream or someone who cannot eat any dairy products: a refreshing snack or a delicious desert after dinner. Consists of thin starch noodles (boiled till just soft), sugar syrup and rose water for a nice fragrance; our first had some poppy seed added for flavor. Served almost frozen. There are variations, such as using saffron instead of rose water for flavoring and a different fragrance, or fresh lime or bottled lime juice instead of poppy seeds; sometimes ice cream is added but you can always get it without - it’s definitely more refreshing that way. The starch noodles seem to be made from wheat, but you might try (broken) rice noodles for a good imitation.
- Iranian “beer”
- Alcohol is forbidden here (except for Armenians who are allowed to use it within their homes). You can still drink beer though: there are several brands of imported alcohol-free beer (really 0% alcohol), often from Germany or the Netherlands but I liked none of them. Much better for my palate was “Iranian beer” of which there are many variations and brands as well; it’s a lightly carbonated malt drink, often with some vitamins added, and hops for flavor. Not exactly an imitation of beer (and not really intended as such). Don’t think “beer” when you try it, just think “drink”; it turns out to be quite refreshing, because it’s not sweet like the ubiquitous Cola and Fanta imitations which make you thirsty again immediately due to their high sugar content.
Monday 2004-06-14 - Mary, Turkmenistan
Weird economy, too
The plan is to leave Aşgabat at ten this morning to go to Mary. But first the registration has to be taken care of: the government wants to know at all times where all foreigners come and go. Our guide, Bava, will take care of it, and is at the office at 7:30 am but it’s so busy, it’s 11 when he finally arrives back at the hotel.
On the way to Mary he tells a little more about how this country works. We’re riding over a very bad two-lane road with no markings: this road is the main connection from Aşgabat to Uzbekistan, all imports from there have to come along this road. In fact, all roads in the country are narrow and in bad repair except those within cities, while many millions are spent building apartment buildings with apartments practically no one can afford to live in at an average monthly income of $100: obviously not the way to kick-start an economy.
Meanwhile, farmers are not allowed to own any ground: all is owned by the government and the farmers have to rent it; a maximum of only 5 hectares is allowed. The government also dictates what can be grown (cotton or wheat) and buys the produce from the farmers who will get $200-300 extra for their families working in the fields. Near Mary however, ground is scarce, so the actual maximum a farmer can rent is only 3 hectares.
When we arrive in Mary, it’s only a few minutes before six, too late to be let into the museum (in spite of Bava’s brave efforts). Carla goes to the hotel to sleep, the rest of us go on to visit the historical site of Merv.
Tuesday 2004-06-15 - Chardzhev, Turkmenistan
Sick over the border
We have to leave Mary early this morning to have sufficient time for the border crossing near Chardzhev. As soon as I wake up, I know I’m sick: I have diarrhea and a little later I have to throw up, too. No fever, so I’m not really worried but I do feel very weak. Bad planning for a border crossing day… When I enter the restaurant next to the hotel where we’ll have our breakfast, just the smell of the food makes me sick again, I have barely time to make it outside to throw up again, let alone to ask for the bathroom. I try a bit of tea, but even that upsets my stomach.
I’m put in the front of the bus and soon doze away; the landscape is boring anyway. At Chardzhev where we need to cross a pontoon bridge before the border crossing a little further on I wake up again because we seem to be going in circles. We are. The driver can’t find the entry to the bridge because all the original routes have been closed off. Finally, with the help of some locals, he finds the way. At the bridge, Bava starts negotiating: normally the bridge can be crossed only by locals and trucks — travelers have to take a taxi across to the border. Some baksheesh takes care of it though: more expensive than taxis but also more comfortable. As a ‘bonus’, we can take a picture of the railway bridge next to the pontoon bridge — illegal but safe from our bus with a trusted driver. It was bombed several times by the Germans during the last World War but they could not take it out of action.
Crossing the border is near torture: it’s extremely hot at midday, everyone is tired, customs at the Turkmen side takes a very long time with all luggage opened (though for a cursory look only) — and then, after saying goodbye to our guide Bava whom I promise to email, we have to walk a long way across no-man’s land in the burning sun to the Uzbek side. It doesn’t help that I’m very light in my head but I’m not the only one suffering. I bless my luggage on wheels though: without the wheels I wouldn’t have made it! At the Uzbek end things are a little easier — the same type of customs declarations as we had for Turkmenistan is required, but at least they have an X-ray machine for the luggage. Two mini busses stand ready to take us to our first Uzbek city. In the front of the bus again I fall asleep immediately. It’s still 97 km to Bukhara.
Saturday 2004-06-19 - Tashkent, Uzbekistan
More catching up
I’m puzzled that the road to Tashkent looks unfamiliar — it takes a while before I realize I’ve never been here: both times before in Uzbekistan I’ve flown to and from Tashkent. Along the first stretch the landscape is pleasant to the eyes: rolling hills and low mountains with a wide plain in-between covered with fields where mainly grain is grown. Lots of small farms, with low walls up and down the hills all around their property. Later, we see a lot of beehives along the road where farmers are selling honey. When we get somewhat higher, we can see the Shardara reservoir in the distance before us but the road doesn’t pass along the lake; far to the right we see the snow-capped mountains of what must be Tajikistan, but apart from that the landscape isn’t as beautiful any more.
In Tashkent we’re staying at the Orzu hotel, a familiar place to me. After a nice dinner outside (I have a delicious “Lens soup” and a Kazakh beer) I walk 50 m, back down the road where there is what they call here an “Internet Club”, one of very many in this city. Their connection here is very fast (supposedly they have an ADSL contract with a Chinese provider). When I arrive at 8:15, it’s still very quiet but by 9 the place is packed with all machines in use, sometimes two to a machine. While game-playing costs 400 so’m per hour, Internet access is 800; after I explain I’ll be online only part of the time, the price becomes 600 per hour! After two hours of fast typing to update the travel blog I need to pay only 900 so’m though — and all of Turkmenistan is up-to-date now.
Back in the hotel I treat myself to a nice beer paid with my last so’ms: all that typing made me quite thirsty!
Sunday 2004-06-20 - Tashkent, Uzbekistan
My name is Johan
Our driver, Vladimir, has gone to the office to pick up our plane tickets. When they arrive at seven this morning, just before we are to leave for the Tashkent airport, we find all our names have changed! Instead of a group of 9 women and 3 men, our tickets claim we’re all men now and though most (not all) have kept their last names, all of us have new first names… My name is Johan Katsma now. Our guess is someone, somewhere, seems to have mixed up two spreadsheets in their computer, and ordered the tickets in the wrong names (some other group must have tickets in the wrong name, too!). Will we be able to fly?
After a phone call to the local agent, they promise a representative will be waiting for us at the airport to sort things out. Someone is there, indeed, but we don’t get new tickets (they can’t print tickets at the airport); the situation is accepted though, and we’re entered in the computer — and the agent’s representative leaves again … too soon, since we still have to check in. Luckily, the airline official who’s to check us in has a sense of humor: for starters, our luggage is far too heavy for the small plane according to the rules but he accepts it because the plane isn’t fully booked. “Bring me a present next time,” he says, and proceeds to literally walk us through the rest of the check-in procedure, first keeping all tickets and boarding cards and taking care they are stamped, until we get onto the bus that takes us to the tiny Yak-4 plane.
It’s like a bus, with at most 40 seats, some of them at the back taken up by our luggage. On the 50-minute flight to Fergana we even get a drink but the seats have no head rests and no folding tables, so a meal is out of the question. We get beautiful views from the windows: plains, gradually changing into the mountainous area of the Fergana valley. Touching down at Fergana airport, we see scarecrows in the sparse grass along the landing strip, obviously meant to keep birds away but I doubt they’re very successful. A bus is waiting to take us via Andijan to the border crossing near Osh. Along the road friendly villages with light-blue washed walls and sidewalks and front gardens shaded with grape vines: I’d like to see more of this area some time!
We have an easy border crossing, and on the Kirghiz side our ‘team’ is waiting for us with the truck bus that will take us across yet another country.
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.
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.
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).
Friday 2004-06-25 - Kashgar, Xinjiang (China)
Into Xinjiang
After the actual border crossing on the Kirghiz side, it’s a long trip to the building of the Chinese border post — at first over a bad road, alongside it pieces of old iron that have fallen off the truck exporting it to China: enough to fill another truck. Then into a new river valley, a much better road here; the mountains on each side are mostly bare but along the river bed there’s some greenery and we see some (ethnic) Kirghiz nomads grazing their herds here; the bus sometimes has to stop for a large herd roaming all over the road. Later, we see more agriculture, and Uyghur houses shaded by rows of poplars.
Before the actual border post there’s a small building where the quarantine office is housed now; the questionnaire has a question about SARS, and our temperature is taken (with a kind of hand-held scanner). But since we left late by now we’re late here, too; two trucks are before us, with a load of carpets an other stuff that all has to go through the (single) scanner first. When it’s finally our turn, I’m asked if I have any books (of course!); I then have to open my bag to show them — I take out only my travel guides and decide not to show my old Hebrew book just yet, not knowing what they’re looking for. The officer is probably just curious (but officially looking for subversive materials?): he’s trying to figure out what the books are about, looking through each for maps; it’s obvious he cannot actually read any English; he even walks away with my books into an office: I’m getting worried I might have to leave them behind. After a long time, it’s declared “OK” and I can put my books back. Phew! Ouside there are money changers, but we ignore them; we must move on.
When we finally get into Kashgar, it’s late — and we find that not only the banks are closed but since a year hotels apparently no longer are allowed to change money either. So there we are without any local currency. We’re allowed to have dinner at John’s Cafe (now moved to a building on the Seman Hotel’s grounds) at credit, giving our room number: we can pay tomorrow, when we can get money. Well, I hope … tomorrow is Saturday: will the bank even be open? But we can’t really do anything but have dinner on credit tonight. We’re effectively grounded — forget about going into town. I’m not in my best mood now.
Saturday 2004-06-26 - Kashgar, Xinjiang (China)
Foot and mouth disease
Traveling for 65 days over bad roads, eating non-familiar foods, getting used to local water (and just when you are, you’re moving into a different country again) … things happen to your body. And sometimes we’re just tired: this isn’t the most relaxing of trips (not that we were looking for that when embarking on this); a tired body is less able to fight off infections. Here’s the balance (in no particulaar order) after traveling some 50 days with our little group of 12 — not naming names…
- The usual ‘traveler’s disease’ of course (diarrhea, sometimes vomiting): we all get our turn (or turns)
- a corner broken off a tooth
- two teeth (at once) coming off a denture
- a broken crown
- a tooth filling falling out
- various nose colds and coughing (most of us, taking turns — it seems to ‘bounce around’)
- swollen legs
- a sprained knee
- dislocated foot bones (that’s two of us!)
- contused ribs
- blisters — not just on feet, also a big one as a result of a 2nd degree burn
- insect bites (a lot)
- fistual (or some such) on a finger, surgically removed in hospital
- big infection on a leg — also treated in hospital
And through all of that, we all keep moving…
Monday 2004-06-28 - Kuqa, Xinjiang (China)
On the train
At 6:10 am the bus is already waiting to take us to the train station which is way outside the city. The train will take us from Kashgar to Kuqa, a town which is new to me. The station is modern: luggage goes through an x-ray scanner before we’re let in to the waiting room and here, at least, there are no stairs to climb to get to the platform (I have bad memories of Ürümqi in that respect). We have reserved places on the train in a hard-sleeper carriage; there are open compartments with six beds each (on three levels) and two little folding chairs in the corridor alongside the compartments. Custom dictates that as long as people are not sleeping — and this is not a night train — the people who have the upper beds can sit om the lower bed since the two folding chairs are not enough. Alas, in our compartment, a very uncouth Uyghur claims his bed and Carla is banned to the folding chair. Meanwhile I sit on the corner of the other bed, which belongs to a mother with a young boy: for them it’s no problem, even when they stretch out for a nap. Big thermos flasks with hot water are provided so we can make a cup of tea or prepare a bowl of instant noodles; every now and then an attendant comes past with a little cart with fresh hot water but on this train no food is sold and there’s no hot water tank at the end of the carriage as is normal in Chinese trains.
We ride along the edge of the Taklamakan desert, with the Tien Shan mountains in the North, here mainly consisting of bare sandstone in various colors. Near the rails, grass has been planted in a square grid pattern to prevent the sand from blowing away or blowing onto the tracks; at some stretches I even notice the tubes of a drip irrigation system: not for agriculture but merely to promote a little vegetation and stop the sand…
Apart from the unfriendly Uyghur (an exception), the atmosphere on the train is nice; people sit around quietly to chat or eat a snack; no one is loud, not even the children. On arrival in Kuqa, one man even helps us to get the luggage off the train, handing us our bags through the window. Then he waves goodbye to us.
We arrive a little late, but a bus is waiting to take us to the Min Mao hotel which has a curious “old-soviet” style with a key lady to open the room for you — who usually has to be found on another floor first. Otherwise, no complaints.
Wednesday 2004-06-30 - Kuqa, Xinjiang (China)
Relaxing and shopping
We will leave tonight on the night train, so we have most of the day to do as we see fit. Together with Carla I first walk out of the modern town which we explored a little already yesterday: As in Kashgar, the old Uyghur quarters are on the outskirts, but nearby here since Kuqa is a relatively small town.
We discover a small Uyghur cemetery where there even is an old tomb (which we don’t visit) as well as a small mosque. Within the walls, we sit in the shade a bit and see several men arriving for payers, several on their bike. We “chat” a bit with an old man who (of course) wants to know where we are from; he’s 100 years old, claims his companion, which probably just means “very old” — he certainly is that.
Along a small unpaved road we detour back to the modern town where we explore the nice market, and more shops; I even buy two shirts.
After dinner together, again at the Uyghur Restaurant next door, we leave at 21:30 for the station, taking four taxis this time. Our train is a slightly more modern version of the one we had from Kashgar. Lights out at 23:00.
Thursday 2004-07-01 - Daheyan, Xinjiang (China)
Deserted desert
I wake up at seven; the sun is shining and an attendant is bringing a new thermos of hot water. We’re riding through a nice mountain landscape, obviously quite high but these mountains are covered with coarse grass; we see some snow-capped peaks behind. Every now and then we go through a tunnel or over a viaduct across a valley. There’s very little sign of human habitation.
Farther on, the landscape gets harsher, a mountainous desert. Curiously, we see a lot of small groups of houses along the railway, even villages — all completely deserted: only the walls stand, all roofs have disappeared. There’s no sign what the inhabitants of these houses could have lived from: no fields, no stables, just houses; yet they must have lived from something. The very sparse vegetation seems barely enough for grazing a few goats. At one point, we cross a river and upstream we see a whole town, also completely deserted: no roofs, no windows in any of the houses and apartment blocks; a power station that no longer works. Why were all these houses, villages and towns built? Were they here before the railway came — or built because of the railway and abandoned again when the railway was completed? Something else? The number of completely deserted villages here in the desert is remarkable but we see no explanation, no clue.
At a little past noon we arrive at Daheyan, a small factory town in the middle of the desert; a bus is waiting to take us on to Turpan, which isn’t on the railway line.
Saturday 2004-07-03 - Daheyan, Xinjiang (China)
Honoured guests
On arrival at the station in Daheyan we’re waved into the “Lounge for Honoured Guests” — normally reserved only for people with soft-sleeper tickets (which is not us): apparently as foreigners here we’re considered “honoured guests” as well. There’s one disadvantage to that: we have to climb six thickly-carpeted stairways with all our luggage (not so good for my foot) but there are advantages, too: nice big, soft chairs, we don’t have to put our luggage through the scanner (why not??), and we’re let onto the platform and train first so getting onto the train isn’t as hectic as usual.
Sunday 2004-07-04 - Liuyian, China
Facilities on the train
It’s light, but we still have a way to go before we arrive at the station in Liuyian. Our night train today is again a little newer, and nicer, than the one before. And there’s one striking difference: in the bathrooms (two at one end of each carriage) there is a mysterious little net fixed to the wall, a little above the rail you can grasp so you can squat safely even if the train rounds a curve. On closer inspection, I see a little sticker next to the net explaining its purpose: it’s to park your mobile phone in while using the facilities. A nice illustration of how popular and wide-spread mobile telephony has become in China in only a few years’ time!
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.
Monday 2004-07-05 - Jiayuguan, China
Catching the train
When we get back to the hotel in Dunhuang a little before noon, there’s just time to check out, put our luggage into the bus, and have a somewhat hasty lunch at John’s Cafe. By 13:00 we’re on the road again, with a very tight schedule: it’s a long way to Jiayuguan, estimated at 5.5 hours, but we must be there before seven to pick up our train tickets.
It’s not a pleasant trip but there’s no way around it: we make only two short stops at gas stations to use the facilities — and a two-minute stop every hour to rotate places in the bus (so we all get our share of being shaken apart on the bumpy road) — otherwise we just move on, and have to. At first we progress fast enough and the driver is able to keep a steady speed of 86 km/hr (according to my GPS) but later there are a lot of road works and our speed goes down a lot. There’s also a lot of grit on the newly-covered stretches, and we see many heaps of glass along the road: broken windshields… It’s a worrying sight, but luckily we have no mishaps: we have no time for that! The atmosphere in the bus is unmistakable: everyone is tense and no doubt some of us think back to the flat tire we had near Kuqa.
All goes well though, and a little before seven we arrive in Jiayuguan where — after no more than a glimpse of the famous Jiayuguan Pass, the largest and most intact entrance of the Great wall — we stop at the bus station. Huh? Our driver goes with our travel companion to pick up the train tickets which turn out to be waiting in a tiny restaurant near the bus station. Then on we go to the train station at the edge of town. We have just 6 minutes to board the train which leaves at exactly 20:38. Lights out at 22:30: now we can relax again.
Thursday 2004-07-08 - Xi’an, China
Last train ride
By 14:00 we’re back in Xi’an, in time for a late lunch of sweet and sour pork with a very good draught beer. Then we go to the supermarket to get some snacks for on the train, and go and pick up our luggage from the hotel storage room and repack a little.
A little before five we walk to the station where we’re allowed into the soft-sleeper lounge again, and can go onto the platform before the masses — thankfully because it’s very crowded here. We find the train for Beijing already waiting; it leaves at exactly 18:00 but by then I find my luck has run out: I have the middle bed on the right — and just don’t manage to climb into it with my still painful right foot which I just don’t dare set on the narrow steps of the ladder (not without my sturdy walking shoes on, anyway). Someone has a brainwave: we swap beds and now I have the middle bed on the left which I can climb into because I can set my right foot on the lower bed, and my left one on the ladder.
Sunday 2004-07-11 - Beijing, China
Packing
After a goodbye dinner last night at a Beijing ‘hotpot’ restaurant (our tour companion is staying behind to accompany another group) I started preparing to pack for the flight back. The nice but heavy knife I bought yesterday got me worried: I was sure my luggage is seriously overweight by now so I tried to do some triage: what to take, what to leave. But I can’t leave any of the heavy stuff, really: all books and papers, all my rolls of film in the lead-lined bags, my Chinese kitchen knife… It’s not easy.
So after some sorting I didn’t sleep too well, tossing and turning, waking up repeatedly, mentally unpacking, repacking, sorting, keeping, rejecting. I make a few decisions but I stay worried. When I get up I’m not rested — and nervous. When I actually start packing I manage to save a Kg or maybe two (some clothes, toiletries, flipflops); not enough.
A costly flight back
A bus will take us to Beijing airport; before we leave we engage the bus driver to take a group picture of us at the hotel entrance — with several cameras — and I’m sure he does this more often. At the check-in desk at the airport my worst fears come true: not only is there a weight limit on checked luggage, there’s one for cabin luggage as well: my little backpack with all my rolls of films is twice as heavy as allowed and my bag is (as expected) overweight as well. I have to take out what I really want to take as hand luggage (luckily I have a small bag handy for that) and manage to carry my film rolls — they always go in my hand luggage — and some other essentials; then I convince the clerk she’s already quoted me an overweight on my bag, and shouldn’t suddenly re-weigh and add my now half-empty backpack as well. Still, I have to pay a hefty fee, which surprisingly I can pay with my credit card (they must be dealing with cash-less passengers more often). I shrug it off: compared to the total cost of our trip it’s still peanuts, and I accept it as a necessary cost of my gotten-out-of-hand photography hobby (and those 100 rolls of film in lead-lined bags): others buy more souvenirs, I pay for the films.
The flight back is uneventful; we’re changing planes in Vienna again, this time without being held up. Amsterdam feels strange after 65 days travelling across Asia. Tomorrow I’ll bring my films to the lab.
Saturday 2004-11-27 - Amsterdam, the Netherlands
Back together again, and making plans
Our second reunion for the 65 days across Asia trip, this time at Carla’s place in Amsterdam. I figure out the shortest route and walk over there in just half an hour — good practice for my foot! We’re all there (even Thom, who arrived back from Egypt late last night!), and the “family” feeling that resulted from traveling together for over two months is immediately back. We exchange presents, and photos that we ordered with each other. Carla prepared snacks and a meal with an Uzbek theme (really delicious plov!), and I was able to make small contribution by bringing the herbs-and-spice mix that I was given by a friendly and hospitable local on my first visit to Bukhara; it turns out not to be just good on cucumber but also on the plov.
Unavoidably, we talk not only about our past trip together and earlier adventures, but also plans for next year. We’d already heard from Marie Josee, our travel companion (who seems to be in Damascus right now), that the Chinese are working hard on the railroad to Lhasa; in fact, it looks like they’ll be finishing it even before the planned date. This railroad is expected to make much of original Tibet and Tibetan culture disappear at an increased pace, mostly by a greater influx of Han Chinese; meanwhile we’ve seen the breakneck speed of renovation in Kashgar, and I expect the same to be happening in Lhasa as well — so I’m not surprised to hear the “four girls” want to go to China and Tibet; they want to organize it themselves. I also want to go to Tibet for the same reasons (like now, before it’s all gone), but I prefer an organized trip (no hassle about transport and lodging, more time to explore) and so does Carla who would like to go as well. We also have the same preference for overland travel instead of internal flights; we’re planning to go to the Vacation Fair in Utrecht in January and we’ll likely be able to agree on a trip and go together! And with a bit of luck (September seems to be the best time of the year) we’ll meet the girls there, too! Nothing firmly decided yet, but Tibet is looking extremely likely now.
Saturday 2005-09-17 - Amsterdam, the Netherlands
“Can you take your shoes off, please?”
I go downstairs with my luggage a bit early and just when I step out the taxi arrives, with Carla and Gwendoline on board. We have a smooth an luxurious start of the trip: we’ll be able to lug our luggage more than enough later! Amsterdam is quiet at this time — but the airport is crowded.
Security after check in is interesting: the gate beeps at me (as I expected since I have a metal buckle on my belt; a lady frisks me. So far normal. Then comes the surprise: “Can you take your shoes off, please?” OK — I’m expecting she’ll take a good look at my shoes, but no: first my feet are frisked, too, and then my shoes have to go through the scanner!
After that we shop a bit, then go to the gate; we leave on time.
Saturday 2005-09-17 - Frankfurt, Germany
Feathers
As I expected (and half hoped) we have to go through the most interesting airport tunnel I know: the 270-meter long tunnel from concourse A to B on Frankfurt airport could have been a bore to walk through but they made an artwork of it: there’s indirect colored lighting along the walls, changing colors randomly, accompanied by interesting sound effects, all computer-controlled. The whole effect is quite interesting — and relaxing — but in addition the sounds make an interesting combination with the sound of the wheels of my little suitcase on the moving walkway.
At the gate we board on time but just when everyone is settled in their seats the captain comes on the speaker: there’s a problem with one of the engines, and it needs to be checked before we can depart; he apologizes he could not stop the boarding but suggests we’re better off waiting at the gate: the checkup may take 2 hours. When I go out I overhear a purser saying they found feathers on the engine: apparently they caught a bird…
After only 45 minutes we’re told we can board again but many people actually left the gate. The personnel took their boarding cards which the passengers can get back on presenting their passports. The girls at the gate make a game of it, reading out the names, picking up a stack of cards (stacks alphabetically sorted) and pulling up a card triumphantly. The result is that everyone is smiling and no one grumbles at the delay. Then when we’re back on the plane we sit and wait some more, and are told four passengers didn’t turn up: now their luggage has to be taken off the plane for security reasons. All in all we leave two hours late; a Chinese passenger next to us worries he’ll miss his connection in Beijing.
Meanwhile I feel I have a heavy cold coming up.
Thursday 2005-09-22 - Beijing, China
Back on the train
At 16:30 we leave for Beijing West Station. We don’t have a routine yet but boarding the train goes smoothly. I can sleep on a lower bed (my favorite) in the six-bed hardsleeper compartment and before lights out at 21:30 I’m in bed already. It’s fun to be back on the train in China!
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”.
Sunday 2005-09-25 - Linxia, China
Muslim country
We can’t stay on the nice new road; we turn off onto a secondary road which is narrower and a lot worse. We’ve left Lanzhou and urban China far behind us now. When we make a short photo stop for the landscape, our driver checks his tires and finds he has a flat inner tire. While he changes the tire (with the help of his wife) we have a photo opportunity with the children from a few farms nearby. We’re at N 35.63526, E 103.45063, at an elevation of 2300m already — we’ll get still higher today.
In Linxia we make a lunch stop at a small Muslim restaurant. We taste our first “Muslim tea” here: a mix of green tea leaves, various herbs and fruits and lots of big sugar crystals; it’s delicious and healthy! This is a specialty of this area of China. We also have a wonderful vegetarian noodle soup (with fresh hand-made noodles) and various vegetable dishes.
I hadn’t realized it before we left but this whole area of China is actually predominantly Muslim; Buddhism arrived here much later. Both groups live peacefully together though and mix easily, buying in each others’ shops, Buddhist monks even eating at Muslim restaurants (though not the other way round since the other restaurants are not halal). We see many mosques in a bewildering variety of architectural styles but all somehow a mix of Chinese and Arabic Islamic; a minaret may look like it does in the Middle East or it may look like a Chinese pagoda. The men mostly wear white skullcaps, sometimes beautifully embroidered; women wear a simple white hat, sometimes covered with a headdress of black velvet lace; a flap that normally goes below the face is sometimes flipped up over the head. In one town where we turn off again I see a sea of white-capped heads along the main street.
Along the roads now we see many brick works: they make bricks and roof tiles while smaller workshops make stone or cement decorations — the whole area seems to support the building industry, as is also suggested by some big billboards along the road. The road itself gets really bad now: they’re building a new road but for now it’s just kilometer after kilometer of construction area. We’re being thoroughly shaken: it’s a long and tiring trip this way.
Wednesday 2005-09-28 - Xiahe, China
Mountains of all kinds
We’re going to Ta’ersi today, a long ride of 9 hours on the bus. The first part of the trip is along the am all-weather road we followed to the grasslands yesterday — only we don’t turn off for Bajiao but keep following the main road. After two hours of all-weather road we cross a bridge and turn onto a much smoother road. The landscape is spectacular, first the wide rolling hills of the grasslands, but then each time we cross a pass, the landscape changes in character. Wide valleys and narrow valleys, mountains of sediment, mountains of sandstone, mountains of granite… the one thing we don’t see is snow-capped mountains: apparently we’re not high enough for that yet. On one of the passes we make a short photo stop and I take some pictures and a measurement with my GPS: we’re at N 36.27385, E 101.97160, at an elevation of 3190m.
There is a lot of agriculture and as before everywhere people are busy with the harvest: sheaves of grain on the fields, drying sheaves of grain (oats?) on the mud-brick walls around the farmyards. I’m not bored for a minute, watching and watching, it’s so beautiful!
Friday 2005-09-30 - Xining, China
Train to Golmud
At 16:00 we leave our Xining hotel to be brought by bus to the train station where we will board the night train to Golmud. For a change we don’t use the soft-sleeper lounge, it’s not all that busy here. This turns out to be an experience in itself: when the train is nearly ready for boarding, everyone is ordered to line up in single file — it’s just about accepted that we stand two abreast but still somewhat frowned upon. Then getting onto our wagon is a problem at first: there aren’t proper steps although the door is open. One acrobatic guy manages to climb up anyway but doesn’t know how to solve the problem; he disappears, presumably to get help; it takes a while before the wagon attendant — she must have been sleeping — appears and folds up a part of the floor to the door: ah! now there are proper steps and we can get in.
Once we’re all seated (all our compartments shared with some Chinese) and the train has left the station, the next problem annnounces itself: there is not only no water at all in the wash rooms but there is no hot water to prepare tea or noodles either: the water still needs to be heated with a little coal stove (the fumes are making me cough). After a long wait the availability of hot water is announced and the attendant starts to fill the thermos flasks for each compartment. Meanwhile the cart with noodles and drinks hasn’t appeared either so we walk along the train to get them from the restaurant car — passing through some very old and rather dirty hard-sleeper wagons.
While this train is as punctual as all Chinese trains are, the service and quality is decidedly worse than on the trains around Beijing.
Saturday 2005-10-01 - Golmud, China
Sleeper bus: a new experience
I wake up early because the Chinese woman with her little son on the bed above me are getting up: they leave the train one station before Golmud. It’s still dark outside and the lights aren’t turned on yet but I can’t sleep any more.
At exactly 7:00 we arrive in Golmud where one small bus is waiting to take us (and all our luggage) to our breakfast: there’s no way all 19 of us will fit in there. When our tour companion Marie Josee states we’ll take some taxis for those who don’t fit in, local agent Mrs. How arranges another bus (where did it suddenly come from?); it looks like she’s been trying to save some money — unsuccessfully. The buses take us to a hotel where the breakfast room is opened half an hour early for us (Mrs. How arranged that very well); we find an excellent Chinese breakfast buffet ready for us.
Our hired sleeper bus was already waiting for us when we arrived at our breakfast hotel (no need to go to the bus station). It looks bright and yellow on the outside (we’d been promised a new bus) but inside it’s not all that new. We find three rows of “bed-seats” (I have no idea what else to call them: not seats, not long enough for a bed) and four next to each other in the back, all in two layers above each other, providing a total of 48 places; between the rows there are also mattresses on the floor: normally people sleep here as well. Even though the head rest on one “bed-seat” provides foot room for the one behind it, the length of them is small: people with long legs are going to have trouble sleeping. It’s a good thing we have the whole bus to ourselves (19 of us), so we can park our food, cameras and shoes on the free upper beds.
The Qinghai-Tibet Highway
I never feel comfortable leaning, so most of the time I sit upright — with the disadvantage that I can’t look out of the window very well, you only can do that from a reclining position. While we leave Golmud I take a measurement with my GPS: we’re at an elevation of 2775m (my book says it’s 3200m), at about N 36.34340, E 094.81511. We’ve embarked on the 1115km Qinghai-Tibet Highway from Golmud to Lhasa.
The weather is overcast and misty, so at first the landscape, near-desert with scarce vegetation, looks very bleak. I notice some tamarisk where run-off water collects along the road, but that soon disappears completely. Still, for the first time we now see snow-capped mountains in the distance; at first with only a very light dusting of snow, later a more solid snow cover. At times some very fine powder snow is falling but it doesn’t even seem to reach the ground.
Slowly the landscape outside the windows changes from a river valley into a tundra-like high plain; there are streams (with occasionally a dam) and pools of water, here and there it looks like a flood plain. Vegetation is still scarce, with small tufts of short grass and herbs.
Gradually, the weather gets better now; the sun brings out the rich variety of greens and browns: it’s not as bleak as it looked at first. Actually, it’s breathtakingly beautiful, this wide, wild landscape. Where the vegetation is a little denser we occasionally see herds of “yak cows” and sheep. One of our short stops along the way is near the Tibetan Antelope Rescue Center: within the fence some antelopes are grazing. Later we see some small herds of Tibetan Antelope, as well as some wild asses. There are birds, too: we note (white) Wagtails, Thick-billed Crows and an (unknown) kind of gull.
Our first high pass is at 5010m (higher ones come later). As long as we are above 4000m and getting higher we’re not allowed to go to sleep — mostly to avoid altitude sickness but it can actually be dangerous: when you sleep your breathing slows down and with the lack of oxygen on the high passes you might never wake up again…
Saturday 2005-10-01 - Yan Shi Pin, Tibet (China)
Lunch break in the midst of poverty
We make a stop in a village along the Qinghai-Tibet Highway to allow our two drivers to eat lunch. The tiny restaurant is not really for tourists but the drivers invite some of us to share their Chinese hot pot (“don’t take meat, only the vegetables,” Marie Josee warns).
Together with Willemien I walk around a bit: some small buildings on both sides of the road — that’s all. The mostly Muslim inhabitants of this small village are very poor but amid the dirt (apart from the road there is no pavement at all) they’re still doing their best to keep things clean; we watch a woman sweeping her yard — she doesn’t even have glass in her windows, only a sheet of not-so-clear plastic with holes in it. Yet it must be bitterly cold here in winter: it’s very high at an elevation of 4558m (according to my GPS), located at N 33.58876, E 092.06429. One of our bus drivers writes down the name of the village for me: Yan Shi Pin.
Apart from the tiny restaurant, a beer house, two small shops and what must be a garage, it’s not clear what the inhabitants of this bleak village live on. At least there is a small clinic. What is noticeable is the power station though: a combination of some small windmills and a group of solar panels.
Saturday 2005-10-01 - Amdo, Tibet (China)
Finally, sleep
Once it gets dark, it gets a lot harder to stay awake. We’d been promised an hour or so of sleep once we’d get below 4000m but that never happens: we stay well above that altitude, passing two more high passes.
At 23:55 we come to a larger town, Amdo where the last checkpost before Lhasa is located. But it’s the national holiday in China: all three checkposts on the Qinghai-Tibet Highway are open and unmanned, we just sail straight through.
Now, we can finally go to sleep, we’ve passed all the high passes and it’s another seven hours to Lhasa. I snuggle in with two duvets (one along the drafty window) and soon fall asleep: no problem for me with my short legs!
Sunday 2006-09-03 - Amsterdam, the Netherlands
Packing and off!
To my relief, I manage to pack all my equipment, cables and films into my small carry-on suitcase, with room to spare for my shoulder bag. That’s a good start.
Next on the list is finishing my documentation for the new version of my travel blog software (so I’ll actually know how to use it when traveling). In the middle of these preparations I get an email from my host explaining about the database problems I’d been having (actually crashing the site); unfortunately, the instructions I’m given don’t work and I have no time left for debugging the problem before I leave; all I can do is print out some emergency documentation so I can “break in” to restart the database if necessary … but I definitely won’t be able to do that while in the DPRK. All I can do then is keeping my fingers crossed the site will keep running.
At exactly 17:00 the taxi is there; the driver calls my phone instead of ringing the doorbell to announce his arrival.
I’m off!
Sunday 2006-09-03 - Amsterdam to Beijing, the Netherlands
Flying over Groningen
At the airport in Amsterdam I meet Frits again, the only fellow traveler I’d met before, and Thekla who will probably be my room mate. The others have gone through check-in already. Since we’re not checking in as a group, we’re also not sitting together on the plane.
On the plane, a China Southern Boeing 777, they tell us we’re going to fly 10,200km, a 9-hours flight. Take off at 20:20. At first, the in-flight information, shown on individual displays mounted in the backs of the chairs, is … well, hardly there: they seem to be setting up or debugging the system, and we see only screenful after screenful of unintelligible numbers. But when they finally get it going, it’s actually nice with a feature I have not seen before: the “satellite view” (showing the plane’s position and route as if from space) is alternated with a kind of “bird’s eye view”, looking forward from above in the direction of the flight.
At 20:30 I note we’re actually flying over Groningen, where my parents live. Mentally, I wave goodbye to them.
After a nice dinner I wait for the worst turbulence to pass before a visit to the bathroom and I go off to “bed”.
Tuesday 2006-09-05 - Beijing, China
We really have a group visa!
I wake up a little past six: that means no more jet lag! For breakfast I have the cup of yoghurt I bought last night at the supermarket.
Yvon, our travel companion collects all the stuff that is not allowed in the DPRK. Meanwhile I deliver the powerstrip I borrowed yesterday and get my 100Ұ deposit back.
At the airport Yvon spots a sign “Group visa only” and resolutely walks past all the long rows behind the other counters to find a nearly deserted one. The young official behind the counter has a problem though: he does not recognize our fancy visa (a sheet with passport photographs, our names (in Korean) and lots of other info) as a group visa and shows an example: a computer printout with basically just a list of names. “No, that is a Chinese one,”, Yvon says. It takes teh help of a colleague official (and of course a little patience on our side) but finally te young man sticks up his thumb to signal it’s all right. Next, we sail through security without any problems.
Tuesday 2006-09-05 - P’yŏngyang, Democratic People’s Republic of Korea
Cucumber salad
On the Air Koryo plane to P’yŏngyang, a small Iljushin (IL 62) with a definite 50’s atmosphere and open overhead luggage racks, we immediately get our usual “homework”: a Health Declaration Card, Customs Declaration, and an Entry/Exit card {“FILL IN CLEARLY IN ROME ALPHABET”). The field “name of delegation” is a little puzzling (we opt for “CNK”, our travel company’s code for this trip) and just leave the field “invited by” blank.
Lunch is nice, with chicken (or beef) in a slightly spicy sauce with sticky white rice, and a delicious side dish of cucumber salad with little strips of fish and sesame seeds sprinkled over it all. I’m immediately addicted to this Korean dish which as it turns out we’ll have many times during out stay in the DPRK.
We meet our team
Outside the P'yŏngyang airport, our team for the trip is waiting for us: Mr. Pak, an experienced 44-year old guide (he's been doing this for 18 years, since shortly after the country opened up for tourists), Miss Un Hui ("Uni"), 22 years old and still inexperienced but friendly and open, and Mr. Hwang, a very experienced driver.
While we drive to the city, Uni tells us a little about the country: Korea has a population of 80 million in total, of which 20 live in the North. P’yŏngyang has 2.5 million inhabitants, 1.5 million of them in the suburbs. North and South Korea together are really one country, sharing one culture and one language. She gets a little flustered when interrupted with a question, but recovers fast — it’s just the nervousness of meeting a new group of people. Her English is actually very good, though not completely accentless. She tells me that in middle school students can choose between Russian and English as a foreign language. It’s obvious that she enjoys being a guide, though she’s still very much a junior and has been working for only 1.5 years.
On the way to the hotel we stop at the “Arc de Triomphe” — larger than the one in Paris — but I’m afraid I’m more interested in the people I see dancing on the other side of the street, my attention drawn by the sound of traditional instruments. I ask Uni what’s happening; they’re practicing for the Arirang games, she explains, even though it has been postponed because of the flooding. When I ask if we can go have a look, she says she’ll have to ask Mr. Pak; but we end up taking pictures and I even make a small video with my new camera.
On arrival at the Yanggakdo hotel (which I recognize from the satellite picture on Google maps) our passports are collected for registration but Mr. Pak promises we’ll have them back after two days and they’ll take good care of them.
Friday 2006-09-08 - P’yŏngyang, Democratic People’s Republic of Korea
This is hard work!
Already on the first day in P’yŏngyang we learned that the itinerary as published by Koning Aap (Monkey King) is actually two days out of date. Most of the elements are still there albeit rearranged but for instance the two hikes I’d been looking forward to (and counted on to keep in shape for my planned Beijing hikes) have been canceled. There are other program elements in their place, but I’m rather disappointed about the canceled hikes.
All these changes imply though that we’re never more than one night in the same place. Officially we check out each time after one night in the P’yŏngyang Yanggakdo hotel, but in practice we return to the same rooms; still, we can’t leave our things in those rooms, so the room of Yvon (our tour companion) is kept for the period to have a place to store most of our luggage and take only a smaller overnight bag when we go into the country.
Apart from all this to-ing and fro-ing, each day has a full program, leaving us barely any “free” time. On the one hand, that’s a good thing since we’re not allowed to freely roam around on our own anyway but on the other hand we’re all soon suffering from a bit of information overload, with no time to process it all — let alone (for me) to write my travel blog stories. In fact, I only just manage to keep my own diary notes during the day: I must write those during and after each program point or I’ll have forgotten most of it by evening. (Of course, every now and then in the evening we gather in a hotel bar but I’m not skipping on this little social time just to write.) On the positive side, we actually get a lot to see on this rather short 10-day trip.
While it’s actually possible to send an email from the Yanggakdo hotel — and when on the road I update this blog via an email interface — I find I simply have no time to write out my stories. I’ll have to try to catch up once back in Beijing. (There is only email access for us though: no web access, although I know at least some people in the DPRK do have web access.)
I do get into a routine of offloading all (digital) photographs made each day on my image tank and recharging both the image tank’s and the camera’s batteries; with one exception, power is no problem and most hotels actually provide a power strip where I can just plug in my equipment - I don’t even need my international adapter plug.
Wednesday 2007-04-04 - Amsterdam, the Netherlands
No problem, just a light panic
I had been clever and ordered a taxi via an Internet taxi broker. The whole ordering process went smoothly, and I expected the taxi at 8:15 — ready with my luggage outside. Except the taxi doesn’t appear and I had forgotten to put the phone number of the taxi company in my phone. Maybe he’s going to Carla’s house first? I call Carla and get her son: Carla is — just like me — ready outside with her luggage. Helpfully, he looks up the number for me in Carla’s email. But just when I start entering the number, the taxi arrives. We’re just on our way when Carla’s son calls me: what’s happening? “We’re on our way”, I say. The driver had told me he’d just come from the airport, and it was exceptionally busy on the road. Great. And he wants to turn on the meter. No, no - we have a fixed price!
So, we pick up Carla, and (via a slight detour because the driver doesn’t seem to know the fastest route to get out of the city) we’re on our way to Schiphol, Amsterdam. That’s stretching it: we do a lot of waiting at first — it is indeed very busy. Carla has a bright idea: let’s call Sander (the director of the tour operator who’s awaiting us at the airport with our tickets) that we’re on our way. Except I had also forgotten to put Sanders phone number in my phone — and my papers with the number are in the trunk — brilliant. Using my phone, Carla calls home, and manages to call her daughter in law out of bed, who helpfully looks up the number. Then I call Sander, who tells me: “I see happy faces here that you two are coming, too!”.
We’re definitely late now, but the traffic has cleared up. Then when the driver wants to enter the area before the gates, he misses the beam coming down after the car before him, and steps on his brakes. I shoot forward, bump my hand into the driver’s seat (it seems lightly contused) and my hat jumps off my head and lands in the driver’s lap. He apologizes, but I’m irritated. We don’t give him a tip when he drops us off.
Sander is there to welcome us — this must be a great day for him, sending off the first group of his new company! We’re not even the latest. Then, when we start to check in, another panic: Maria suddenly misses her ticket… She’s positive she did get it from Sander, but it’s nowhere to be found. Did she drop it? I call Sander again, hoping he can assist — luckily he’s not far, just upstairs, lingering around for he didn’t know what — my call, obviously. He soon reassures Maria: she can come, all the tickets are in the computer. That helps: now she finds here ticket after all!
From then on everything goes smoothly, and we arrive in Istanbul on time.
Wednesday 2007-04-04 - Istanbul, Turkey
Plain sailing now
Not much to tell about the second lap of the trip: we have several hours to kill at the airport (but need to set our watches one hour forward), and spend the time shopping (a little), chatting to get to know each other (especially the “new” group members, and (some of us) having our “last” beer — no such thing in Yemen! No trouble checking in without a Yemeni visa in our passports (Sander had given us all a letter just in case they’d make trouble over that, which happens sometimes). Taking off from the airport we have a spectacular view over Istanbul by night. On the plane a nice dinner, with “really the last beer” - Efes, a very good Turkish pilsener.
We arrive in Sana’a on time. Then we just have to be a little patient, waiting in line for our visas, but people are friendly and there’s no trouble at all. Meanwhile Marie Josee is awaiting us, and already collecting our luggage. It’s great to see her again!
Outside we meet our team, three drivers, one each from a different tribe. They seem very nice. But, all in all, it’s 2:30 when we arrive in our hotel (in the old city, just west of the Zailer wadi which crosses it) where Mohamed is awaiting us with a cup of tea. It’s 3:00 when we finally tumble into bed: it’s been a long day, but we’re here!
Saturday 2007-04-07 - Marib, Yemen
A sad parting
Our room in the “fortified” hotel in Marib is very stuffy: the single window cannot be opened, there is no fan, and the airco is broken. Last night I laid down under just a sheet, but still had trouble falling asleep. Seemingly just after I’ve finally dozed off, I’m woken up by an unexpected sound: knocking — on our door? It’s bad news: Carla’s aged mother has passed away; she’ll have to break off the trip and go home.
Everything is arranged very quickly: a permit for the trip back to Sana’a, in a private taxi; there she can go to our old hotel and fly on to the Netherlands the next day. We’re both dazed for our own different reasons, but still manage to catch some sleep. Our group has to leave at 4:30 in the morning, but Carla gets up at 4:00 as well and informs the group. Now, with pain in my heart, I watch her standing there, at the exit of the little annexe of the hotel where we stayed. She waves us goodbye when we drive away, and we all feel strange and sad to leave her behind like this, all alone, waiting for her taxi which won’t arrive until 8:00. We’ll be far into the desert by then…
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.
Saturday 2007-04-07 - Hawra’, Yemen
A tasteless tourist lunch
Even now after we’ve turned off, we see range of mountains on our left. One has patterns that look like eyes: it’s like a big face in the mountain watching us. Farther on, on our right, a sandy hill is capped with a stone formation that has been eroded in the form of a sphinx. A little later we arrive at a T-junction at Hawra’; the road sign tells us that from here it’s 66km (left) to Sey’un, and 239km (right) to Al Mukalla. It’s an important junction, and there’s just one restaurant where of course it’s busy: we’re out of luck, downstairs, where the locals eat, it’s full, so we have to go to the room upstairs (where the tourists eat, and which we’d have preferred to avoid). The food isn’t bad, but seems to be “adapted” to tourists, too: all spices seem to have been left out and especially the vegetable stew tastes quite bland. That’s made up for by a side dish new to us: yogurt, with some spicy tomato sauce on top; I find it delicious and eat quite a lot of that.
Wednesday 2007-04-11 - As Sirrayn, Yemen
Shared riches
According to my map (copyright 2003), the road into Wadi Do’an stops in Al Khuraybah but it doesn’t — not anymore: A nice asphalt road leads us up and out of the wadi and it looks brand new.
Every little village here belongs to one family and it’s visible people here are wealthier than in other areas: the houses are more richly decorated, and the decorations are more colorful. Of every family here, one or two members work in Saudi Arabia, where they earn well, and send money home. As our driver Hussein tells us, just like the rich Al Kaff family financed the road from Wadi Hadramawt to the coast (and much else) in the 1930s, one man named Abdullah Boshan who got extremely wealthy in Saudi Arabia finances a lot of development project in this area. The new road we’re now following, which ultimately connects to the main road from Sey’un to Al Mukalla, is just one example of those projects. He also finances schools, drink water supply, and things like all the food during the Eid ul-Fitr celebration at the end of the Ramadan month. Also, if a couple wants to marry but doesn’t have the money for the wedding, he pays it for them.
We make a short stop at the fork in the road from where we can look down on his village, As Sirrayn; his house clearly stands out: an enormous family house, whitewashed with parts of walls painted in various cheerful pastel colors. Below us the road continues along the Wadi Do’an river to the village, while we just to the left fork which takes us up and out of the wadi.
Once out, after a steep climb, we’re on the high plain of the desert, the jol. Suddenly the landscape is totally different: the jol is almost flat, arid, with only very sparse vegetation — the green and fertile wadis with their rich palm groves completely hidden from view. You can see gullies eroded by water (when it rains, a lot of water flows, and there can be dangerous flash floods), but nowhere is there a view straight down. Yet, if you’d follow such a gully down, eventually you’d end up in a green wadi. For the early travelers in this area, the difference must have been astounding. During a short stop I take a few pictures of typical plants found on the jol.
The first part of this road probably follows the track indicated on my map, but farther on we dive down another steep pass at a point where there is not even a track; a sign says we’re at Mount Aballa Arib. Many hairpins later, we end up on the wide plateau along the south coast. Now we’re going down slowly, and after a while we can see the Arabian Sea in the distance. Along the road we stop for tea in Ladouas, a small village not found on our maps. The we join the main road from Wadi Hadramawt to the coast, and later turn right to Al Mukalla.
Sunday 2009-05-17 - Tehrān, Iran
Chicken, chicken and chicken.
Chicken shoarma for lunch
When we arrive at the North-West corner of the bazaar, we note the subway entrance (and I recognize the corner from a picture I saw om Google Earth) — so we immediately know how to get back. Finding the entrance of the bazaar is another matter though: what looked like an entrance to me turns out to be a short alley leading to a small courtyard, and nothing else. But someone asks if we’re from the Netherlands (yes), and leads us to where the “real” bazaar starts — all the while talking Dutch: it turns out he’s actually from Leiden, and half-Iranian: he’s here now (he says) because his mother’s father died. Of course, once we’re at the entrance, he pulls out a business card, and offers to take us to his relative’s carpet store. We thank him politely, and go our own way.
We need two things: lunch, and new shoes for Uke who has hurt her feet. Although we were told there are very few places in the bazaar where you can get anything to eat or drink, we almost immediately find a small place where someone is making sandwiches from roasted lamb or chicken with vegetables: just the thing we need. Ordering is another matter, since Mr. Meat Roaster keeps pointing inside. Finally we understand how the system works (you go inside to order and pay, get a ticket, and deliver that to the meat roaster outside who will then make your sandwich) but by that time we’ve convinced him we will pay and he is making our sandwiches and pointing us inside again to pay. Our chicken-and-veggie sandwiches, accompanied by a bottle of water, are absolutely delicious — and big: I can’t even finish mine!
Buying shoes
Then we dive into the bazaar proper. This is not a bazaar to visit for the beautiful old architecture, but that’s not what we’re looking for: it’s the hustle and bustle of trade going on, the variety of goods crammed into small stores, and above all the people themselves. (The rich, in fact most Tehranis, are not shopping here, we’ve been told, it’s mostly poorer people; but we see also traders who sell and buy wholesale here: thus the idea that only poor people come here was a bit misleading.) We roam around for a while, jumping out of the way of porters with their carts (there seems to be a universal rule in bazaars that they have right of way), see clothes, household goods, carpets (of course), but somehow we manage to miss the shoes in spite of being given directions. Finally we find a “real” shoe store outside, near where we came in, and Uke gets her new comfy shoes (for the incredible amount of seven euros).
Navigating the subway system
Then it’s time to head back and figure out the subway system — we’ve reserved ample time for that, since Noyan (seemingly somewhat nervous about us heading out on our own in Tehrān) had told us it can be really, really crowded and slow during rush hour. But around four rush hour apparently hasn’t really started yet, and the subway turns out to be very easy to navigate. I love trying out subway systems, and design and layout of signage is one of the things I always look at — it’s really excellent here, and of course it helps that all names are written in both Arabic and Latin characters. First we study the maps to find out where we are and where we need to go: real easy, it’s just 4 stations further along the same “red” no. 1 line. There are ticket vending machines which Uke heads for; they’re obviously operating on ATM cards, but I’m doubtful that will work with any of our cards; there’s a real human-operated ticket office on the other side. For us, part of the fun is figuring it all out, but when we’re heading for the ticket window, a woman approaches us and offers to help — we politely thank her and say we’re doing just fine, and having fun! I go to the ticket window, and get three tickets for 15,000 Rials each, a little over 1 euro. A little later Uke has lost sight of Carla and me; a woman notices her looking around, takes her by the hand, and leads her to us: “your friends are here!” The genuine hospitality and helpfulness in Iran is well-known, but here in the big city it still takes us by surprise.
“He’s crazy!”
The first train that arrives is really, really full and we let it go, walking to the end of the platform: maybe it’s somewhat less crowded when you get on at the end of a train there? We take the next train, and some people actually get up so we can sit, Carla on one side, Uke and I on the other, facing each other in the back of the car. One man standing near Carla starts talking and talking to her, apparently saying not nice things. Uke and I try to follow what’s happening on the other side, but there are people standing in-between. (Carla later tells us the man sitting next to her actually apologized for him and said he’s really sorry for her.) The man standing in front of me gently taps my arm and then points at his temple: “He’s crazy”, he says. Everyone around seems to agree, and when the man sitting next to me gets off, they all point Carla to the free seat: obviously not just so she can sit next to us, but to get rid of the nutter they are now shielding us from. Meanwhile we carefully count stations, and get off the train in time.
Chicken for dinner
We’re back at the hotel early, so we sit in the lounge, and order a big pot of tea. I can catch up a bit with my writing. A little before 6:30 Noyan appears, is happy to see us, and disappears again. After a while we get anxious, because the bus is standing near the hotel (driver sleeping inside), but none of the group are anywhere to be seen and neither is Noyan. Finally we head to the hotel reception to ask if maybe he has called to leave a message. No. The receptionist offers to try a find a phone numb er for him, goes through a stack of paper slips, and writes a number on a piece of paper. I try to explain need a country number to call anything from my phone; not sure he understands, but he lets me call on the reception phone. I get a busy tone. We go out again. We’re relieved a little later to see Noyan arrive, the group behind him. Turns out they went to have a meal, since they skipped lunch. When I show Noyan the slip of paper, he tells me the number isn’t his…
At the airport, I ask Noyan if we’re going to get a meal on the plane. Just a snack, he says. So the three of us set out to organize something to eat: we didn’t skip lunch but need something for dinner instead! At what looks like a restaurant, we ask for sandwiches; the man behind the counter points to a row of fridges with glass doors. There are indeed several not too attractive-looking sandwiches and a few other dishes in a fridge, the glass door closed with a padlock. The cashier lets us point out what we want to have (this is just a show window) and orders it for us - Uke and me both choose a dish that turns out to be “chicken and fries”. We’re promised it will be hot. Well, when it arrives it is far from that, but it’s served with two buns, and the cashier also brings us plastic cutlery, salt and pepper, and ketchup; it turns out to be quite tasty (though we don’t try the bread) and plenty to fill our stomachs.
Snack on the plane
Soon after take off they bring around our snacks: a packet of fruit juice, and a burger, served with ketchup. The “burger”, sitting on a bed of still-crisp salad inside the bun, turns out to be a thick slice of cold chicken.
Tuesday 2009-05-19 - Khuzestan, Iran
It´s a long way…
From Izeh where we had our lunch, it was still another 330km to Esfahān — it seemed as though we had all the time in the world. But after meeting our paranoid friend (more leasure time) we pass through Dehdez, and here the mountain roads start in earnest: it´s much steeper now, with many hairpins and a maximum speed of 30km per hour; the road seems to be dangerous as well: we see skull-and-bones on warning signs along the road. Just before 20:00 it´s still another 115km to Esfahān, and the sun has disappeared behind the mountains: it´s getting dark fast.
Our tour leader Noyan tries to keep us amused by declamating old Persian poetry, and a little later he does a historical quiz (prize: a book of historical maps). But we´re all tired and grumpy, though at 22:45 the mood lifts when we see a lot of lights in the distance: obviously a big city. Esfahān? No, it´s Shahr-e Kord — still 80km from Esfahān… At least now the road gets better and we can make better speed. Still, it´s almost 02:00 when we´re finally at our hotel, and we haven´t even had dinner!
At least, for those who want it, the hotel can arrange for a light meal to be brought to our rooms: Carla and I share one: a plate with two buns, a fried egg, some cheese, and a packet of milk (next morning we find out this little snack cost 100,000 Rials: more than €7.50!). When we finally go to sleep it´s 03:00.
Wednesday 2009-05-20 - Tehrān, Iran
Double oops
Our flight to Tehrān is short and uneventful; now we have some time to kill before our connecting flight to Mashhad. There´s a TV on in the large waiting hall; a football match is attracting an ever-larger and more excited crowd and I amuse myself watching the (mostly) men watching the screen which I cannot see, and write a bit for my blog.
Then it´s time to check in for our connecting flight and we go through security — men and women separate as is usual in Iran. Fluids are not considered a security risk here, so you can bring your bottle of water, and the security ladies are quite friendly. One picks me out and wants me to open my hand bag — I´m not phased by that because although it didn´t happen so far on this trip, I quite often have to open bags because of the electronic equipment I´m carrying. ¨Do you have a knife?¨ she asks? ¨No, in my checked bag¨ I say. She starts to go through my bag, takes out one of the small pouches, and produces my Swiss army knife. My mouth drops open: I was absolutely sure I´d put it back in my toilet bag! I ask if I can still check it in, and Carla supports me by remarking it´s quite valuable. Then, right behind me, Madelon has exactly the same problem. The lady gives us a good look over, quickly discusses our case with (apparently) a superior, and takes us to a small office where a man sits behind a desk. For both of us he writes out a slip, puts a stamp on it, sticks one part to our boarding card, and the puts the other away with the knife. He looks reassuring. Then the lady takes us back again, and we can board the plane with the rest of our hand luggage. We´re told we´ll need the slip stuck on our boarding card to get our knives back — how, we have no idea.
When we land in Mashhad, we´re still waiting for our luggage to come off the plane when a man in a fluorescent yellow vest walks towards our group, looking around, and carrying something in his hand: I see some green-and-yellow and recognize the slip for our knives. Sure enough, he has both our knives, each neatly packaged in a transparent plastic bag. Phew!
