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Wednesday 2004-03-17 - Amsterdam, the Netherlands
Turkish music
Back to Barry’s bazaar; the Turkish music seller soon sees me. Alas, he explains, he wasn’t able to find anything on such short notice. But, he has a tip: there’s a Turkish video store in the Kinkerstraat that also sells music. He gives detailed directions for where to find it. That’s great! I’d never have thought to look for music in a video store! This time I stay for a cup of coffee, and tell him about my trip. He also tells me there are Iranian stores on the Rozengracht; at least one of them should have music. I should have realized: with so many nationalities in Amsterdam, there should be an Iranian store somewhere.
Off to the video store then; I find it easily with his directions. Once there, it takes some explaining what I’m looking for (traditional music, not pop) but the man is incredibly patient, comes with all sorts of suggestions, and lets me listen to everything. One CD has a nice picture of a shaded pool on it that reminds me of Labi Hausz in Bukhara: it’s in Urfa, he tells me; the CD title also has Urfa in it. I buy three CDs, all very nice, and all different in style.
When I get home I do some googling and find that Urfa is actually the same as Şanlıurfa: I’m delighted I actually found music from one of the places we’re going to visit!
Wednesday 2004-03-24 - Amsterdam, the Netherlands
Visa: papers, papers, papers
Filling in the visa application forms (Iran, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan and China) wasn’t all that hard — except for working out entry and exit dates, needed for most countries. The itinerary we got just works by day numbers, so I had to count through them to work out where we’d be on which dates. (Well, my parents will want to know that as well.) I added a safety margin either way of about 5 days: I have plenty of experience with all sorts of mishaps that can change a planned itinerary; arriving late isn’t a problem, but arriving early or leaving late could be.
Then when I wanted to staple the passport photographs to the forms, I suddenly ran out of staples. Off to the store…
After lunch I’m off to the visa agency (conveniently in Amsterdam) to deliver my passport with all the forms, indicating that I’ll pick it up myself when it’s all done: I like to be able to make a photocopy not just of my passport (already done) but of all the visa as well; and a quick check if everything’s OK is a good idea, too. (I’ve had incorrect dates entered on a visa — a result of bad form design which confused the public servant doing the visa: half in the group had incorrect data on their visa!)
Jabs - do I need any?
I searched the internet for what vaccinations are currently needed for all those countries we’re going to travel through (Syria, Turkey, Iran, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan and China). It appears that DTP is needed for all, and mine has expired. Typhus is listed for all the countries, too, if your stay is longer than two weeks. Well, apart from Iran and China it isn’t; but adding it all up is of course considerably longer than two weeks. Malaria should be considered as well for some areas of Turkey and Iran; and hepatitis everywhere (but I already have antibodies for that).
Then I needed to find a phone number for the AMC vaccination clinic (the most convenient one for me: in Amsterdam, and easy to get to with tram and metro); finding their phone number was (still) not easy. When I finally had a number it was late; I tried it anyway to check if it was the right one.
(For those searching for the phone number: last time I looked it was 020-566.38.00 to make an appointment, or 0900-95.84 for information.)
Wednesday 2004-04-28 - Amsterdam, the Netherlands
More music: today must be my lucky day!
On the way to the travel store I popped in at a one of the bigger music stores in Amsterdam: I know they have a reasonable section of world music but they don’t know what they’re selling. But I’m still looking for that one CD of Kirghiz music which I know exists, so I tried anyway. I didn’t see anything, but they have world music frequently mis-filed. After much prodding, the girl tried to search for “Kyrgyzstan” in the computer (no, I don’t have an artist’s name!) and to my amazement came up with a title which she proceeded to fetch. It turned out to be a different CD with Kirghiz music! That was an immediately sale: such music is hard enough to get.
Just in case, I asked at the travel store as well: they do have a few CDs, but none with Kirghiz music (different publisher, anyway). But the guy sent me to another music store I didn’t know about. Wow. Not only did they have a separate “Central Asia” section (although small), they had two CDs in there I couldn’t pass up: music from Uzbekistan (by Sevara Nazarkhan), and a double CD with traditional music from Iran. And when I asked about the Kirghiz CD, they actually knew the music publisher (Buda Musique), and offered to order it for me. Done — that should be waiting for me when I get back.
My collection of Asian music is taking shape very nicely. Listening to my new acquisitions now - so far it’s great, and I’m really happy.
Wednesday 2004-06-02 - Yazd, Iran
Getting lost
First priority this morning in Yazd is changing money - I’ve already borrowed some from Thom and Carla. So we head for the old town where the bank should be near the mosque and next to the post office. According to our city information, it’s very easy to get lost in the old town — and getting lost is exactly what we do. Not a real problem: the old town is quite beautiful and reminds me somewhat of the old town of Bukhara with its network of alleys and mud-plastered walls. When we finally find ourselves in a ‘real’ street again we find we weren’t even far off: we actually already passed the back of the Jame mosque (I even took a picture without realizing it was this mosque) and once we’re in the right street, the post office is easy to find — but where is the bank?? After walking up and down the street and asking several times we find we walked passed it at least twice already: the bank building is on the corner and they’ve just built a new wing; they are now renovating the main building - meanwhile neither building has a sign this is the bank!
We have to practically walk through a building site to get to the money-changing desk in the new wing. Changing money is a complicated affair with three forms, showing your passport, signatures and stamps, and then going back down to the other building to do the actual exchange at the cashier’s. While working through all the forms the bank employee who helps us chats with us a bit and tells us they actually do a lot of business with people from the Netherlands: Iran is importing a lot of seeds from seed growers in the Netherlands, such as for cucumber and carrots.
The Jame mosque, of which we already had a glimpse, turns out to be one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, with splendid tile work. It’s also a nice, cool space and we see how several students take advantage of this and sit around on the carpets and against the tiled walls with their study books.
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.
Tuesday 2004-06-15 - Bukhara, Uzbekistan
Like coming home
A little virtual elastic band ties me to Uzbekistan and especially Bukhara. Last time, two years ago, I found coming here was like coming home. This time, my third in Bukhara, I wake up when we enter the city and it’s no different. When we get to the center of the old town, I recognize the women selling bread from my photographs: they’re still here! Only at the other side of the street, in the shade now. They have a surprise waiting for them.
Our hotel, “Lyabi House”, is quite close to the Laby Hauz complex with its centuries-old pond and trees and the three madrassahs. It’s one of the old Jewish merchant’s houses turned into a comfortable hotel, like many here in the old Jewish quarter. There are tapestries on the wall in each room, one of them in ours I immediately recognize as Turkmen. While I lay down to rest, Carla goes out to change money for both of us and brings back water, cola and cherry juice for me, to help bring back my inner plumbing under control. Later, we walk to Laby Hauz where we have a light meal at one of the restaurants near the pond: delicious and healthy yogurt for me!
Wednesday 2004-06-16 - Bukhara, Uzbekistan
Ouch!
First plan for today is to try and deliver the portraits I took of people here in Bukhara two years ago: the bread-selling women, and a family near Chor Minor. Carla and I go out before breakfast: last time I brought them photographs I was treated to a nice breakfast - and I don’t need two! When we arrive at the spot where they were yesterday afternoon, as usual, we see only the men though (it seems their sons and husbands sometimes take over). Since I’d rather give the pictures to the women, we walk back to the hotel and have a nice buffet breakfast there.
The women will probably be back later in the day, so our next target is Chor Minor: this building, of which the Tadjik name means “four minarets” is worth a look anyway. Its original function is not exactly clear: the four towers definitely aren’t minarets (no one can stand inside to call for prayer) and it’s too small for a mosque anyway; but it might have been a tomb, or maybe the entrance of a (now completely disappeared) caravanserai. Whatever it was, it’s a charming building, beautifully restored, and I’m looking forward to see it again.
On the way out, in the hotel lobby, I suddenly hear (feel?) a distinctive ‘crack!’ from inside my body somewhere and find myself rolling onto the floor… I must have missed the small step in the lobby. The ‘crack!’ was my right foot, I think - it hurts! A man from the hotel comes running and helps me up. At least I can stand on it, but it’s very painful. Quickly, he puts me in a chair and examines my foot. I can wiggle my toes, everything seems in the right place, I can stand on it. “OK!” he declares. Reasoning that it will probably get very thick if I don’t walk on it, I go out with Carla anyway, walking very slowly now.
Delivering photographs
On the way to Chor Minor we come past the bread sellers’ spot; the women are back now! My pictures are a great success, and very welcome. Carla takes a few pictures of the whole scene, and the oldest women poses together with me. We also get a delicious bread, still warm. Bukhara bread is the best in all of Central Asia!
On we go, very, very slowly, to Chor Minor. The woman who has a little souvenir shop in the building comes out to open the gate but we gesture we’re not interested and walk on. On the corner, where the family on my pictures (little girl, father the truck driver and grandma) lived, I don’t recognize the home, only the steps in front of where it was. Disappointed, we go to ask the shop lady who takes us back to the corner: the door to the house is now somewhere else, but the mother (the truck driver’s husband) lives there and is very happy with the pictures though a little shy. Carla and I go and sit on a little wall in the shade — mainly to rest my foot: it’s getting very thick now, swelling up over my sandal straps. Just when we decide to go back to the hotel, and maybe have my foot examined, mother comes out again, accompanied by an older girl. The girl turns out to speak English quite well; she is the small girl’s older sister, she explains, and invites us in again. This time, we get tea and delicious home-made sour cherries on syrup. The charming girl is 16, just finished secondary school, and will go to college (“the institute”) in September to become a teacher, she tells. Mathematics is her favorite subject.
Keeping it on ice
We walk back to the hotel, as much as possible along the main road because the better pavement is easier on my foot. In the hotel I find there’s a thick blue swelling on it now, and I hold the foot under the cold tap for a while, while Carla goes in search of help which appears in the form of Beatrice, an American staying and helping in the hotel who turns out to be a fully-qualified physician, working for the WHO. Her conclusion: is it’s not broken (it doesn’t “feel” broken to me), but probably a dislocated foot bone which simply snapped back into place. “It will stay stiff for seven weeks” is her verdict. Great. She also arranges to put ice on my foot: she “steals” some small water bottles from the freezer in the kitchen. I lie down with my foot up, an ice bottle held in place with a towel wrapped around it.
Around lunch time, she knocks on the door again, asking if “the patients” would like some soup and salad; a little later she appears with a tray with two bowls of soup and two carrot salads! The soup feels good in my still a bit wobbly insides — and the ice feels very good on my foot — but I’m worried it will get very stiff if I don’t exercise it. A short walk to the Synagogue nearby (we’re right in the middle of the old Jewish quarter of Bukhara) feels doable; I put on my good walking shoes now to support my foot, and take my monopod which doubles as a walking stick. On the way out I check with Beatrice: “You won’t hurt it,” she says, “and if it hurts, just come back.”
Jewish Quarter
When we arrive near the Synagogue, just one street further off Laby Hauz, a young man approaches us. It’s closed now, he explains (we can see the big lock on the door), but if we can wait a bit he’ll ask the rabbi to open up for us. While it’s new for Carla, I’d like to see it again: last time I was here they were busy restoring it so I’m curious what it’s like now. A few minutes later the young man comes back; the rabbi will be here in 20 minutes, he says, would we like to see the old synagogue in the mean time? I didn’t know there was another one here! So yes. On the way through the labyrinthine streets of the old Jewish quarter he tells us he’s a Jew himself and while his relatives would like to emigrate to the US (not Israel), he wants to stay here and work as a guide. We pass a small market (empty now) with stone benches to displaying the wares, where kosher meat is traded, and a small kindergarten where we’re allowed a peek inside. The children are just having a bite and a drink, and are quite curious to suddenly see a pair of strangers. The elementary school nearby is empty now (the kids have vacation from June through August) but we can have a look there, too: they’re busy restoring it but it will be ready for the new school year in September. 600 Jewish families still live in Bukhara, our guide tells us. He speaks Tadjik with friends he meets on the street, so he could be qualified as a ‘Jewish Tadjik Uzbek.’
At the Synagogue we can look inside; downstairs, there’s a row of chairs for older women, otherwise the men sit here; younger women sit upstairs om the balcony. There’s a homely atmosphere, it looks and feels very much like a religious home for a small close-knit community — an atmosphere very similar to the Armenian churches we’ve seen in Turkey and Iran. When, after a short visit to the young man’s home where we get a cup of tea and I buy an old book, we finally get back to the ‘new’ Synagogue, it’s closed again: the rabbi must have gotten tired of waiting since our tour (with me walking very slowly and much farther than I’d planned) took a lot longer than 20 minutes.
In the city, it’s hot (“it’s cool now,” says our guide) but the smell of hot dust is relieved here and there by the aroma of freshly baked bread — the best bread in all of Central Asia — somehow the combination is typical Bukhara. After a cool beer at Laby Hauz we go back to the hotel so I can rest my foot and put more ice on it. I’m a bit less worried about it now: it’ll be very uncomfortable for a while and I’ll be slow but at least I’m mobile. It’ll heal.
Thursday 2004-06-17 - Shakhrisabz, Uzbekistan
Healing water
After a night of tossing and turning (I keep losing my ice bottle when I turn around) we have to get up early for breakfast at six: president Karimov will visit Bukhara with other leaders from the region (among them president Putin of Russia) and the city will soon be hermetically closed: we have to be out before that! Although our target today is Samarkand, we won’t go straight there but via Shakhrisabz, another city that was once on one of the branches of the old Silk Road where there are some nice historical sites. The two-and-a-half hours we get for lunch and site seeing is too short to see everything (especially at my current snail’s pace) but it’s worth while.
Together with Carla I go to one complex of mosques and tombs along the main road; when I was here three years ago. the buildings were closed while they were being restored and I could see only the outside; the restoration is finished now. The mosque (Ku’k Gumbaz Masjidi, built 1434-1435) is of a very special style: inside, there are only tiles on the lower walls, and above that all decoration on walls and ceilings is painted: mostly blue and white with gold accents (here and there replaced by yellow but the gold is real). The decorations are very refined and I’d never seen this style before. Across the beautiful courtyard are two tombs side-by-side; Gumbasi Saidon Maqbarasi, built in 1437, has the same type of decorations; the other tomb next to it is older (Shayx Sham Siddin Kulol Maqbarasi, 1373-1374) and has plain white walls. A friendly girl leads us around — not that she wants to be a guide or even earn anything: she studies philology but merely wants to practice her English a bit. One of the tomb stones in the Gumbasi Saidon mausoleum has a small depression in the top, highly polished by many hands since the water that’s standing in it is supposed to have healing qualities, she tells us. I take her at her word and put a few drops of it on my foot.
Behind this complex (where we also buy a few souvenirs at the stands in the courtyard) is another one, in rather worse repair but with a nice, shaded courtyard. A few men sit around in the shade; one of them, with a long white beard, deaf and nearly blind, is 120 years old, the others tell us. I can take a picture of him, he doesn’t mind; I doubt he’s really 120 years old (I doubt he quite understands my question), but he’s definitely very old. Then it’s time to (slowly, slowly) walk back to the bus.
Thursday 2004-06-17 - Samarkand, Uzbekistan
Evening light
At 4:30 we arrive in Samarkand, in Mr. Furkat’s pleasant family hotel: a shaded courtyard with fruit trees and seats with fresh fruit (small apples, apricots and prunes all from their own trees) and nuts on the tables — a real Uzbek tradition — and free coffee and tea. And it’s at a very short walking distance from the Registan complex making it an ideal location to stay in Samarkand. Carla and I first walk to the Chorsu cafe, on the corner of Tashkent street and just around the corner from the hotel, for a (draft) beer on the terrace: this is my favorite place to sit and watch people in Samarkand where mainly locals come to eat, drink and sometimes play a game of chess, and many people walk by on the way to and from the bazaar.
After that, we stroll to the Registan complex, just now basking in beautiful evening sunlight, where we enter (without buying a ticket) through one of the ‘secret’ back entrances to make pictures. A watchman approaches us — not to chase us away but to tell us we should climb the minaret (we decline) and feel free to take pictures now; and if we want, we can come back early in the morning (between 5 and 6) and will get in for free, too, he assures us, so we can take pictures in the morning light. Like last time, I take a lot of pictures, it’s very beautiful in this warm evening light.
Friday 2004-06-18 - Samarkand, Uzbekistan
Shaken awake
At 4:44 I wake up because my bed is gently, and quite regularly, shaking. Carla is still fast asleep — it’s not from her tossing around. I know immediately: this is an earthquake, but probably at a distance. Later, we hear others have felt it, too, and some of the men in the hotel confirm: yes there was an earthquake this morning; not an uncommon event here, as demonstrated by the cracks in the walls of some buildings (including the Registan and our hotel). They don’t know where exactly it was, but usually it’s earthquakes in Afghanistan that are felt here in Samarkand, they tell us.
Taking it easy
I want to give my foot some rest and Carla would like a day of rest as well so after our early-morning visit to the Registan for more pictures and an excellent breakfast at the hotel we install ourselves in the hotel courtyard and stay there most of the day. I’m catching up with my travel journal after getting behind as a result of the long travel days and my health problems. Meanwhile, my foot is turning all kinds of red and light and dark purple: my favorite colors but not under my skin! Every now and then I take a little walk around the courtyard to keep my foot exercised a bit while most of the day I just spend writing, drinking tea and (later) beer, and snacking on the fruit and nuts on the table. Every now and then there’s a loud ‘tock!’ when another ripe apricot falls off the tree onto the sunshade. Dinner is a portion of five delicious mantis (a kind of dumplings filled with finely chopped meat and onions) and a local Samarkand beer at the Chorsu cafe.
Saturday 2004-06-19 - Samarkand, Uzbekistan
Catching up
We’ll be leaving for Tashkent only after noon, so I have time to try out an Internet cafe in Samarkand; there’s one on Tashkent street just around the corner from the Chorsu cafe. Many young boys sit around here and play games (suggesting they have fast and modern machines). Access speed is reasonable — I don’t need much for my travel blog email anyway: most of the time I’m just typing. One of the young boys seems to be managing the place, redialing the modem when necessary, and taking in payments, although an older man is around who seems to be the boss. I manage to catch up with my blog until arrival on the Turkmen border; for the 1:45 hours I pay only 900 so’m: less than a dollar.
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.
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.
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.
