2009 09 17 – Day 83 – Dandong
Returning to Dandong from The Great Wall should have been, as with the outward journey, a simple bus ride. But with no clearly defined bus stop on the nearby road, and having been ignored by the solitary bus that went past, I found myself increasingly open to hitching a lift from any vehicle going my way. A countryside local farmhand (I assume) joined me squatting by the side of the road and I attempted to say something useful about a bus to Dandong in Chinese, but his response only confirmed that we didn't understand each other beyond the fact that we were headed in the same direction
Eventually a taxi came by and I managed to flag it down. Although I was in no position to haggle with so few cars on the road, I gave it a go if only to minimise the degree to which I got ripped off. While negotiating I made it fairly clear with my arm gestures that my farmer friend would be coming too, but the driver was having none of it! I tried various ways of getting him to take both of us, including pushing for one price for me and a higher (but not double) price for the two of us, but the driver was immovable. His attitude stank of elitism, as if the country bumpkin wasn't worthy of a lift in his vehicle – so much for the egalitarianism of communism.
With the taxi driver threatening to leave both of us stranded, I had to concede defeat. Offering an apologetic shrug to the farmhand, I clambered in and abandoned him to his fate.
Showing posts with label language. Show all posts
Showing posts with label language. Show all posts
Sunday, 4 September 2011
Tuesday, 19 April 2011
Chengde Signs
2009 09 15 – Day 81 – Chengde
I agree! It would be entirely inappropriate in the courtyard of a temple, as would this:
Can we jump up? Or fall down? Or climb down?
While wandering the palaces of Bìshǔ Shānzhuāng, I became a bit exasperated at the unimaginative information boards, too many of which stole small portions of my life by just describing what my eyes would be telling me if they weren't busy reading the stupid text! All was forgiven however, when I came across this beauty:
The sign reads: “The former address of the Emporer's toilet.”
Now I'm no postie, but I'm sure this address received plenty of 'Special Deliveries'!
While waiting for the train onward from Chengde to Dandong I spied the sign beneath the tv, which reads 'DO NOT GOB ANYWHERE'. This tickled me, partly because I was surprised to run into that particular slang verb, and partly because it seemed the perfect word to describe the rather too enthusiastic and vocal clearing of Chinese throats all over their streets. I had seen and heard enough of such action to feel it was a problem, even though I understand the situation is much improved in recent years.
While wandering the palaces of Bìshǔ Shānzhuāng, I became a bit exasperated at the unimaginative information boards, too many of which stole small portions of my life by just describing what my eyes would be telling me if they weren't busy reading the stupid text! All was forgiven however, when I came across this beauty:
Now I'm no postie, but I'm sure this address received plenty of 'Special Deliveries'!
Wednesday, 6 April 2011
Hill Temple
2009 09 15 – Day 81 – Chengde
Having been only semi-conscious during my arrival and tour negotiation, I was aware that I was joining a Chinese language tour, but not entirely sure what the itinerary was. First up was a hill temple I'd never heard of. Not an ideal start, but the day was young and, as I wasn't going to understand any of the information dispensed by our guide, I was free to wander at my own pace.
The courtyard of the temple provided good views over Chengde in the valley below,
and an inevitable construction site:
It wasn't obvious whether this sculpture quarry was still operational.
The temple buildings themselves weren't particularly noteworthy, but I was taken by some of the art :
Having been only semi-conscious during my arrival and tour negotiation, I was aware that I was joining a Chinese language tour, but not entirely sure what the itinerary was. First up was a hill temple I'd never heard of. Not an ideal start, but the day was young and, as I wasn't going to understand any of the information dispensed by our guide, I was free to wander at my own pace.
The courtyard of the temple provided good views over Chengde in the valley below,
The temple buildings themselves weren't particularly noteworthy, but I was taken by some of the art :
Sunday, 27 March 2011
Travelling Lessons Learned
2009 09 14/15 – Days 80/81 – Shanhaiguan to Chengde
Doing things takes time. Of course I knew that, but how much time? Depends on the things doesn't it? And whether you've done it before, and whether you're dependent on others, and how dependable they are, and how reliable your information is etc etc. All pretty obvious stuff. In hindsight. Knowing how much time to allow is something that comes with experience. Which is exactly what I got as I made my way from Shanhaiguan to Chengde.
With a 5pm last bus departure on the horizon, and disappointed with smog shrouded visibility on my morning walk, and swayed by the underwhelming Lonely Planet write up of the actual sight of the Great Wall entering the sea, I opted to abandon an afternoon visit, despite it being the main reason I was in Shanhaiguan.
I was keen to avoid a potentially panicky race for the last bus to Chengde because, to catch it, I first needed to get to the nearby city of Qinhuangdao, a local bus ride away. No problem when you're a local, but not so straight forward as a foreigner who can't speak, read or write! Lonely Planet was understanably short on detail for this minor tourist destination, but they did have this particular bus journey and after a fun half hour of bobbly wobbly bus ride, I was in Qinhuangdao.
But where in Qinhuangdao? The final stop was a bit of a car park of local buses in an area of town with no recognisable buildings – no intercity bus station, no train station, no town hall or even post office. I was surrounded by non-descript concrete block apparments and offices.
I joined a queue to a nearby concrete shed masquerading as a ticket office to enquire about the bus to Chengde. I didn't hold out any hope that it actually left from here, or that the people behind the counters spoke any English, but I didn't yet have an alternative plan of action. If my bus didn't leave from here, then where? And how to get there? Time was slipping away.
A smiley local approached and applied his broken English as best he could. Conversation was a struggle, but I persevered, hoping he would help me find my bus. Victory was short lived. Once I had managed to make my travel plans understood, it was immediately clear that he thought there was no bus to Chengde! His advice was to go back to Beijing and out to Chengde by train, there are many. He proposed to drive me to the train station.
I was sure he was right about the frequency of trains, but I wasn't sure that he really knew there was no bus. But I was running out of time and options, and the train station offered the possibility of other people who might know about the bus to Chengde. If that bus didn't exist I would be well placed for plan B. I decided to go with him, still alert to the potential of this being one big con on the short brisk walk to his car, which was 'not far' and 'over there'. The fact that his car was indeed not far and over there was encouraging. The fact, revealed shortly after we'd joined traffic, that he'd been drinking, was not. If I understood correctly, he'd been at a business lunch where they'd eaten and drunk a lot. No wonder he was so happy! The walk to the car, the first minutes of the drive and my experience with Ruslan, encouraged me to not confuse his coordination with my concerns of his driving under the influence. Fortunately the drive was short.
At the train station, my merry local found a station official to share a laugh with over the idea of a bus to Chengde, before jumping queues to help me buy a ticket for the next train to Beijing.
Returning to Beijing was frustrating and disappointing. I had been trying to not retrace my route and though this wasn't a major problem, travelling two sides of a triangle instead of one would significantly delay my arrival in Chengde. A delay that also wouldn't be a big problem if I hadn't already bought my onward ticket. But I had, before I left Beijing.
It now looked like I'd have to skip sightseeing in Chengde as most of the day I'd allocated for it would be spent arriving and departing. This prospect was particularly frustrating because I had squeezed the less interesting Shanhaiguan into my schedule on the back of the mythical 5pm bus to Chengde.
I had come unstuck in Khazakstan, with future fixtures restricting my in-the-moment flexibility, due to a fixed schedule from Moscow to Beijing. But I'd defined that before I left the UK, this current setback was one of my own making and I had to learn my lesson!
I used the five hour train ride back to Beijing to critically revisit my speculative and sketchy schedule for China. It was a pencil plan of possibilities. Too many possibilities! I chopped away at the edges to create more room manoeuvre – off came a number of possibles in the North East -chop- including a national park along the North Korean border -chop- off came a horse trek in Inner Mongolia -chop- there would be no time to return to the west of China -chop-chop-etc-chop-etc.
Arriving late in Beijing, I had accepted my setback, learned my lesson and felt better having created a more realistic, achievable, and full yet flexible plan for China. I had resigned myself to only passing through Chengde, rather than touring, as I went to buy my train ticket for the next day.
Chengde is about five hours by train from Beijing so, given that it was about 22:00, I was surprised to find that the next train wasn't early the next morning, but at 23:15! A brief rush of panicky uncertainty, at the prospect of a sleepless night in a seat, failed to defeat the surge of excitement at the prospect of touring Chengde after all and the lure of a cheap ticket and night. Before I knew it I was scurrying along a platform and into a carriage. Hesitating in the face of possible Chinese protocol over unreserved seating, I was happy to be rescued, not for the first time, by local teenage girls, who invited me to join them. That they were returning home to Chengde was about the extent of possible conversation and soon enough, they had heads on arms on table and fell fast asleep. An activity most passengers seemed engaged in:
except me!
I struggle to sleep sat upright at the best of times, but a hard seat, noisy train, uncertain security situation and unfamiliar surroundings were never going to let my exhaustion get the better of my consciousness.
I tried to rest my eyes as best I could.
Doing things takes time. Of course I knew that, but how much time? Depends on the things doesn't it? And whether you've done it before, and whether you're dependent on others, and how dependable they are, and how reliable your information is etc etc. All pretty obvious stuff. In hindsight. Knowing how much time to allow is something that comes with experience. Which is exactly what I got as I made my way from Shanhaiguan to Chengde.
With a 5pm last bus departure on the horizon, and disappointed with smog shrouded visibility on my morning walk, and swayed by the underwhelming Lonely Planet write up of the actual sight of the Great Wall entering the sea, I opted to abandon an afternoon visit, despite it being the main reason I was in Shanhaiguan.
I was keen to avoid a potentially panicky race for the last bus to Chengde because, to catch it, I first needed to get to the nearby city of Qinhuangdao, a local bus ride away. No problem when you're a local, but not so straight forward as a foreigner who can't speak, read or write! Lonely Planet was understanably short on detail for this minor tourist destination, but they did have this particular bus journey and after a fun half hour of bobbly wobbly bus ride, I was in Qinhuangdao.
But where in Qinhuangdao? The final stop was a bit of a car park of local buses in an area of town with no recognisable buildings – no intercity bus station, no train station, no town hall or even post office. I was surrounded by non-descript concrete block apparments and offices.
I joined a queue to a nearby concrete shed masquerading as a ticket office to enquire about the bus to Chengde. I didn't hold out any hope that it actually left from here, or that the people behind the counters spoke any English, but I didn't yet have an alternative plan of action. If my bus didn't leave from here, then where? And how to get there? Time was slipping away.
A smiley local approached and applied his broken English as best he could. Conversation was a struggle, but I persevered, hoping he would help me find my bus. Victory was short lived. Once I had managed to make my travel plans understood, it was immediately clear that he thought there was no bus to Chengde! His advice was to go back to Beijing and out to Chengde by train, there are many. He proposed to drive me to the train station.
I was sure he was right about the frequency of trains, but I wasn't sure that he really knew there was no bus. But I was running out of time and options, and the train station offered the possibility of other people who might know about the bus to Chengde. If that bus didn't exist I would be well placed for plan B. I decided to go with him, still alert to the potential of this being one big con on the short brisk walk to his car, which was 'not far' and 'over there'. The fact that his car was indeed not far and over there was encouraging. The fact, revealed shortly after we'd joined traffic, that he'd been drinking, was not. If I understood correctly, he'd been at a business lunch where they'd eaten and drunk a lot. No wonder he was so happy! The walk to the car, the first minutes of the drive and my experience with Ruslan, encouraged me to not confuse his coordination with my concerns of his driving under the influence. Fortunately the drive was short.
At the train station, my merry local found a station official to share a laugh with over the idea of a bus to Chengde, before jumping queues to help me buy a ticket for the next train to Beijing.
Returning to Beijing was frustrating and disappointing. I had been trying to not retrace my route and though this wasn't a major problem, travelling two sides of a triangle instead of one would significantly delay my arrival in Chengde. A delay that also wouldn't be a big problem if I hadn't already bought my onward ticket. But I had, before I left Beijing.
It now looked like I'd have to skip sightseeing in Chengde as most of the day I'd allocated for it would be spent arriving and departing. This prospect was particularly frustrating because I had squeezed the less interesting Shanhaiguan into my schedule on the back of the mythical 5pm bus to Chengde.
I had come unstuck in Khazakstan, with future fixtures restricting my in-the-moment flexibility, due to a fixed schedule from Moscow to Beijing. But I'd defined that before I left the UK, this current setback was one of my own making and I had to learn my lesson!
I used the five hour train ride back to Beijing to critically revisit my speculative and sketchy schedule for China. It was a pencil plan of possibilities. Too many possibilities! I chopped away at the edges to create more room manoeuvre – off came a number of possibles in the North East -chop- including a national park along the North Korean border -chop- off came a horse trek in Inner Mongolia -chop- there would be no time to return to the west of China -chop-chop-etc-chop-etc.
Arriving late in Beijing, I had accepted my setback, learned my lesson and felt better having created a more realistic, achievable, and full yet flexible plan for China. I had resigned myself to only passing through Chengde, rather than touring, as I went to buy my train ticket for the next day.
Chengde is about five hours by train from Beijing so, given that it was about 22:00, I was surprised to find that the next train wasn't early the next morning, but at 23:15! A brief rush of panicky uncertainty, at the prospect of a sleepless night in a seat, failed to defeat the surge of excitement at the prospect of touring Chengde after all and the lure of a cheap ticket and night. Before I knew it I was scurrying along a platform and into a carriage. Hesitating in the face of possible Chinese protocol over unreserved seating, I was happy to be rescued, not for the first time, by local teenage girls, who invited me to join them. That they were returning home to Chengde was about the extent of possible conversation and soon enough, they had heads on arms on table and fell fast asleep. An activity most passengers seemed engaged in:
I struggle to sleep sat upright at the best of times, but a hard seat, noisy train, uncertain security situation and unfamiliar surroundings were never going to let my exhaustion get the better of my consciousness.
I tried to rest my eyes as best I could.
Shanhaiguan Signs
2009 09 13/14 – Days 80 – Shanhaiguan
Little grass is having rest,please don't disturb them
The fish are enjoying themselves; please don't disturb them.
Inspired by the Boomtown Rats?
Friday, 11 February 2011
Leaving Beijing
2009 09 13 – Day 79 – Beijing
Having been in Beijing for four weeks and settled (despite my hostel hopping) into some kind of routine, with Chinese language and cooking classes, I found it surprisingly difficult to leave. I think a big part of it was the daunting task of trying to elucidate a plan for my next month or two of travel in China – there's so much to see and do!
Where to start? This was difficult even though I'd cut the country in two in my overall plan.
In the end I got close enough to formulating a plan, though far from complete, with the first few destinations and resolved to get on the road again. However, in my 'settled' state, I wasn't yet confident enough with my basic language skills to buy my own train tickets and so resorted to the relatively expensive luxury of the hostel travel desk.
Having bought the tickets the day before departure, and as the station was barely three minutes walk from the hostel, I was relaxed about collecting them and left it until just over an hour before departure. As the girl was handing over the tickets, she froze.
“These are for today.” she said.
“Yep” I casually confirmed.
She looked at me, looked at the tickets, looked at her watch and back at me.
“You have to go.” She said in deadly serious English.
“You're going to miss your train” said her face in international body language.
Suitably panicked and starting to feel a little sick at the thought of missing my train, I raced around gathering my stuff from the storage room and legged it over to the station. Just like my first Chinese rail departure, the station was vast and had security checks at the entrance, but it didn't take long to get inside, find my departure hall and soon enough I was wondering what all the fuss was about as I waited for half an hour or so to depart on time, as expected.
Having been in Beijing for four weeks and settled (despite my hostel hopping) into some kind of routine, with Chinese language and cooking classes, I found it surprisingly difficult to leave. I think a big part of it was the daunting task of trying to elucidate a plan for my next month or two of travel in China – there's so much to see and do!
Where to start? This was difficult even though I'd cut the country in two in my overall plan.
In the end I got close enough to formulating a plan, though far from complete, with the first few destinations and resolved to get on the road again. However, in my 'settled' state, I wasn't yet confident enough with my basic language skills to buy my own train tickets and so resorted to the relatively expensive luxury of the hostel travel desk.
Having bought the tickets the day before departure, and as the station was barely three minutes walk from the hostel, I was relaxed about collecting them and left it until just over an hour before departure. As the girl was handing over the tickets, she froze.
“These are for today.” she said.
“Yep” I casually confirmed.
She looked at me, looked at the tickets, looked at her watch and back at me.
“You have to go.” She said in deadly serious English.
“You're going to miss your train” said her face in international body language.
Suitably panicked and starting to feel a little sick at the thought of missing my train, I raced around gathering my stuff from the storage room and legged it over to the station. Just like my first Chinese rail departure, the station was vast and had security checks at the entrance, but it didn't take long to get inside, find my departure hall and soon enough I was wondering what all the fuss was about as I waited for half an hour or so to depart on time, as expected.
Book Review – Concise Chinese-English Dictionary for Lovers
2009 09 – Beijing
I enjoyed A Concise Chinese-English Dictionary for Lovers, for its engaging exploration of differences of culture, philosophy and thought through Z, a young Chinese girl, come to England for an education, and her romantic entanglement with an older English man. The book is written as Z speaks, beginning with the basic and broken language of a beginner, evolving as she adjusts to her new life and eventually becoming almost as fluent as a native speaker. Throughout there are interesting and amusing situations arising from the difficulties of translation, not only because meanings don't easily align, but also because the ways of thinking underpinning the languages have some important differences.
I enjoyed A Concise Chinese-English Dictionary for Lovers, for its engaging exploration of differences of culture, philosophy and thought through Z, a young Chinese girl, come to England for an education, and her romantic entanglement with an older English man. The book is written as Z speaks, beginning with the basic and broken language of a beginner, evolving as she adjusts to her new life and eventually becoming almost as fluent as a native speaker. Throughout there are interesting and amusing situations arising from the difficulties of translation, not only because meanings don't easily align, but also because the ways of thinking underpinning the languages have some important differences.
Tuesday, 9 November 2010
Lost in Translation?
2009 08 – Beijing
No doubt less widespread than it once was, 'Chinglish' – the famous and often amusing mistranslation of Chinese into English – still survives in Beijing despite the attempts of the authorities to wipe it out ahead of the Olympics. However, I can't be sure that this sign, found in a hostel I stayed in, is a genuine example as I didn't ask at the coffee bar about their selection of 'Adult Toys'!
Saturday, 31 July 2010
China! First stop Urumqi
2009 08 10 – Day 45 – Urumqi
Urumqi (woo-lum-uh-chee), capital of China's western-most province Xinjiang (shin-jiang) was my first stop-off in China primarily because the train from Almaty terminates there.
Pausing in the square in front of the station to take in our new surroundings, my fellow travellers and interrogation survivors are Alex, Rob and Akanuma.
We were all in the hunt for a cheap room for a night or two, so we teamed up and, with the help of our intact Lonely Planet guide book, found somewhere with a four bed room for 100 RMB (Renminbi), which is about £10.
The view from the front of our hotel:
Urumqi and Xinjiang contain a number of different ethnic minority groups, the largest of which are the Uighur (wee-gur) who are ethnically and culturally closer to Central Asia than China. In downtown Urumqi, such cultural roots are evident in the architecture, and language (Arabic I think, but certainly not Chinese) on many shopfronts and advertisements.
Many streets had shop fronts like this: tightly packed, small frontage but deep garage like spaces. Each shop had a quite focused product range, but the variation between shops could be anything from stationary to petrol pump parts.
It was somewhat bewildering to look around and see almost no latin characters. I understood nothing! At least in Russia most of the characters looked somewhat similar to what I knew, but the Chinese characters were indecipherable to me. Fortunately for our little posse, Alex had some survival Chinese skills and a decent phrasebook. If his first vocal attempts were met with consternation, then Akanuma tried his hand with writing communications as many traditional Japanese characters are the same in Chinese. It was a funny little set up, but it worked most of the time.
People set up to sell their wares wherever and however they can. I'm not sure I'd want to buy the fish from this particular stall.
Who needs doll's houses and toy soldiers? There is no toy more classic than fruit!
Man power has yet to be fully sidelined and such hand carts are a common sight.
Urumqi (woo-lum-uh-chee), capital of China's western-most province Xinjiang (shin-jiang) was my first stop-off in China primarily because the train from Almaty terminates there.
Pausing in the square in front of the station to take in our new surroundings, my fellow travellers and interrogation survivors are Alex, Rob and Akanuma.
We were all in the hunt for a cheap room for a night or two, so we teamed up and, with the help of our intact Lonely Planet guide book, found somewhere with a four bed room for 100 RMB (Renminbi), which is about £10.
The view from the front of our hotel:
Urumqi and Xinjiang contain a number of different ethnic minority groups, the largest of which are the Uighur (wee-gur) who are ethnically and culturally closer to Central Asia than China. In downtown Urumqi, such cultural roots are evident in the architecture, and language (Arabic I think, but certainly not Chinese) on many shopfronts and advertisements.
Many streets had shop fronts like this: tightly packed, small frontage but deep garage like spaces. Each shop had a quite focused product range, but the variation between shops could be anything from stationary to petrol pump parts.
It was somewhat bewildering to look around and see almost no latin characters. I understood nothing! At least in Russia most of the characters looked somewhat similar to what I knew, but the Chinese characters were indecipherable to me. Fortunately for our little posse, Alex had some survival Chinese skills and a decent phrasebook. If his first vocal attempts were met with consternation, then Akanuma tried his hand with writing communications as many traditional Japanese characters are the same in Chinese. It was a funny little set up, but it worked most of the time.
People set up to sell their wares wherever and however they can. I'm not sure I'd want to buy the fish from this particular stall.
Who needs doll's houses and toy soldiers? There is no toy more classic than fruit!
Man power has yet to be fully sidelined and such hand carts are a common sight.
Saturday, 29 May 2010
Bukhara to Tashkent
2009 08 03 – Day 38 – Bukhara to Tashkent
Having only managed to visit Bukhara after hours, cruise the empty streets and use a nice little guesthouse and its comfy bed for insufficient sleep, I had a weary train journey back to Tashkent to contemplate my situation and the adventures of the past few days.
My visit to Bukhara really highlighted the problem with fixed schedules. I say visit, it was more like a rebound off. Bukhara is another historically significant city in Uzbekistan and I had been persuaded by the people at Sundowners and STA Travel that one day, in fact one afternoon, would be enough to see what Bukhara had to offer. I was easily persuaded as I hadn't done any research and didn't want to spend too much time (and therefore money) making my way to Beijing... I was interested in Central Asia, but it was not a priority.
Ruslan and I had talked about my plans and schedule, but somewhere along the line we musn't have understood each other – not that surprising given the extreme limitations of our shared language – and so I thought by joining Ruslan and his friends on the road trip to Bukhara, we would leave later than the bus, travel faster and I would still arrive with time to see some of what Bukhara had to offer. As the day evolved, it became more and more apparent that we wouldn't make it to Bukhara until the evening and I resigned myself to that, deciding that to attempt to discuss our miscommunication would achieve nothing useful even if I was able to get my point across. And so I went with the flow, happy to chose people over places, now over history, living life over observing evidence of others'. Bukhara will have to wait for my return. There are other interesting things to see in Uzbekistan beyond the scope of this visit and what Bukhara has to offer is likely to be the same whenever I might return in the future.
Having only managed to visit Bukhara after hours, cruise the empty streets and use a nice little guesthouse and its comfy bed for insufficient sleep, I had a weary train journey back to Tashkent to contemplate my situation and the adventures of the past few days.
My visit to Bukhara really highlighted the problem with fixed schedules. I say visit, it was more like a rebound off. Bukhara is another historically significant city in Uzbekistan and I had been persuaded by the people at Sundowners and STA Travel that one day, in fact one afternoon, would be enough to see what Bukhara had to offer. I was easily persuaded as I hadn't done any research and didn't want to spend too much time (and therefore money) making my way to Beijing... I was interested in Central Asia, but it was not a priority.
Ruslan and I had talked about my plans and schedule, but somewhere along the line we musn't have understood each other – not that surprising given the extreme limitations of our shared language – and so I thought by joining Ruslan and his friends on the road trip to Bukhara, we would leave later than the bus, travel faster and I would still arrive with time to see some of what Bukhara had to offer. As the day evolved, it became more and more apparent that we wouldn't make it to Bukhara until the evening and I resigned myself to that, deciding that to attempt to discuss our miscommunication would achieve nothing useful even if I was able to get my point across. And so I went with the flow, happy to chose people over places, now over history, living life over observing evidence of others'. Bukhara will have to wait for my return. There are other interesting things to see in Uzbekistan beyond the scope of this visit and what Bukhara has to offer is likely to be the same whenever I might return in the future.
Thursday, 20 May 2010
'istoria Samarkand
2009 08 02 – Day 37 – Samarkand
Samarkand is an ancient city whose status and wealth was founded on its vital location on the Silk Road between China and Europe. The historical significance of the Silk Road in the history of the world and East-West trade of goods and ideas was the main reason I'd decided on an overland route to China that went through Central Asia rather than the more popular Trans-Siberian/Trans-Mongolian route and despite my interest in visiting Mongolia.
All the time I'd spent with Ruslan. I'd made sure I'd still have time to visit 'istoria Samarkand. Tours of family, friends, village and wedding complete, world history could now take priority and Ruslan and his friends gave me their tour of some of the main historical sights.
Ancient Samarkand was a renowned regional academic centre, attracting would-be scholars from far and wide. The Registan, defined and dominated by three madrasahs (Muslim clergy academies), is the historic centre of old Samarkand.
When I visited a stage was being erected for some big event in a few days time. Ruslan and his friends kindly paid for a local guide to show us around... it was pretty amusing to see her disbelief at our claims of being able to communicate with each other effectively enough to have spent days in each others company, despite our extremely limited common language.
The student digs. Places were limited by the number of rooms.
I don't think the students were really as small these doors suggest. I believe the intention was to have people bow their heads on the way in.
The Shah-i-Zinda necropolis. Legend has it that Kusam ibn Abbas, the cousin of the prophet Muhammad, was buried here.
Samarkand was the captical of the great 14th Central Asian leader Tamerlane, aka Timur, whose empire at some point reached from Delhi to Baghdad and up to the Ural river, a huge swathe of modern day Central Asia and the Middle East. Timur is something of a national icon in Uzbekistan and statues of him are everywhere. Samarkand is home to his mausoleum Gūr-e Amīr
Samarkand is an ancient city whose status and wealth was founded on its vital location on the Silk Road between China and Europe. The historical significance of the Silk Road in the history of the world and East-West trade of goods and ideas was the main reason I'd decided on an overland route to China that went through Central Asia rather than the more popular Trans-Siberian/Trans-Mongolian route and despite my interest in visiting Mongolia.
All the time I'd spent with Ruslan. I'd made sure I'd still have time to visit 'istoria Samarkand. Tours of family, friends, village and wedding complete, world history could now take priority and Ruslan and his friends gave me their tour of some of the main historical sights.
Ancient Samarkand was a renowned regional academic centre, attracting would-be scholars from far and wide. The Registan, defined and dominated by three madrasahs (Muslim clergy academies), is the historic centre of old Samarkand.
When I visited a stage was being erected for some big event in a few days time. Ruslan and his friends kindly paid for a local guide to show us around... it was pretty amusing to see her disbelief at our claims of being able to communicate with each other effectively enough to have spent days in each others company, despite our extremely limited common language.
The student digs. Places were limited by the number of rooms.
I don't think the students were really as small these doors suggest. I believe the intention was to have people bow their heads on the way in.
The Shah-i-Zinda necropolis. Legend has it that Kusam ibn Abbas, the cousin of the prophet Muhammad, was buried here.
Samarkand was the captical of the great 14th Central Asian leader Tamerlane, aka Timur, whose empire at some point reached from Delhi to Baghdad and up to the Ural river, a huge swathe of modern day Central Asia and the Middle East. Timur is something of a national icon in Uzbekistan and statues of him are everywhere. Samarkand is home to his mausoleum Gūr-e Amīr
Rescue
2009 08 02 – Day 37 - Samarkand
The next time I'm conscious I don't have too long to dwell in my helpless predicament before the early morning tranquility is roughed up by the unmistakable thump of Russian gangsta rap. My saviour has arrived!
Ruslan, looking somewhat less rough than I feel, is quick to restore my faith in my judgement of character by producing my camera and neck pouch! Reunited with my essentials I'm able to focus my energies on being embarrassed and apologetic, spending some time trying to construct and communicate appropriate sentiments with the limited vocab of my pocket Russian language book. While I struggle with that, we congratulate the hosts on the party, thank them and leave, briefly stopping to say hello to various family members in the village on our return to Ruslan's home. Everyone has a good natured laugh at me, including Ruslan's mother as she supplies us with her hangover cure of bread and a bowl of soured yoghurt... it wouldn't have been my first choice of foods, but I'm able to eat it and manage to keep it down despite (or perhaps because) I follow it, at his insistence, with Ruslan's elixir – vodka!
The next time I'm conscious I don't have too long to dwell in my helpless predicament before the early morning tranquility is roughed up by the unmistakable thump of Russian gangsta rap. My saviour has arrived!
Ruslan, looking somewhat less rough than I feel, is quick to restore my faith in my judgement of character by producing my camera and neck pouch! Reunited with my essentials I'm able to focus my energies on being embarrassed and apologetic, spending some time trying to construct and communicate appropriate sentiments with the limited vocab of my pocket Russian language book. While I struggle with that, we congratulate the hosts on the party, thank them and leave, briefly stopping to say hello to various family members in the village on our return to Ruslan's home. Everyone has a good natured laugh at me, including Ruslan's mother as she supplies us with her hangover cure of bread and a bowl of soured yoghurt... it wouldn't have been my first choice of foods, but I'm able to eat it and manage to keep it down despite (or perhaps because) I follow it, at his insistence, with Ruslan's elixir – vodka!
Friday, 16 April 2010
Aralsk-Tashkent Train
2009 07 29-30 – Days 33-34 - Aralsk-Tashkent train
Having made the train with only seconds to spare, I had to walk through eight coaches to find mine. Those coaches I passed through were clearly one step down from my class on the Moscow-Aralsk train, with no compartments, no air conditioning and six berths in the same space as four... it was hot and cramped and I felt pretty awkward bundling my way through with my big rucksack.
As soon as I found my more comfortable compartment, I was immediately relocated to an available berth elsewhere in the carriage after the policeman holding a private dinner party in my original compartment had a word with the carriage guard. Settling in to my unofficial berth, sharing the compartment with a young mother and her one-year-old, the carriage guard comes and asks me for 200 Rubles for the bedsheets.... I didn't know anything of this charge I protest! It doesn't mention such a thing on my ticket I claim (not totally sure as it's in Russian) and I didn't have to pay such a fee on the Moscow-Aralsk train... He doesn't entirely understand and I'm in no hurry to give way to the charge which sounds a bit fishy... I'm not sure he won't pocket the money. He disappears for a short while and returns with a translator – fellow passenger 16 year old Julia. Now able to communicate, it becomes clear that other passengers have paid this charge... but that doesn't change my position of disappointment at hidden charges.... surprisingly the guard concedes that he can accept, instead of payment and to cover the shortfall in his accounts, a letter outlining why I refused to pay! After some consideration of the possibility that writing such a letter would create more problems than would be worth the money it saved, I decided to do it on principle, since I had the option.
Julia with my statement and her translation.
While the bedsheets charge was being addressed, the policeman whose compartment I was supposed to share arrived at the doorway and inquires, through Julia, why am I traveling alone? Who will help me if something goes wrong? I reply, through Julia, that I don't know, that I'll deal with problems when they occur and I'm sure local people will help me. His response is a grunt that sets him in motion back to his compartment. Was he indirectly threatening me? I ask Julia... she thinks he was just drunk.
Curious and charismatic fellow passenger Ruslan (left) invites himself into my compartment and, requisitioning my Russian phrasebook, leafs through for a word he probably won't find to help his enthusiastic questioning. Intoxicated policeman (right) interrupts for a brief while, asking the same questions as before and insisting I take his photo.
Ruslan and I get on quite well and share some beers at the next station stop and spend much of the rest of the afternoon in entertaining banter with some assistance from Julia, her Mum, Ruslan's friend and my Russian phrasebook.
The second day on a train seems to be when all the locals really want to get to know you and I spent the last hour or two before Tashkent being quizzed by these friendly locals on what seem to be the standard topics – Where am I from? Why am I traveling alone? Where's my wife? Why aren't I married? Apparently I should find myself a nice Uzbek girl...
Having made the train with only seconds to spare, I had to walk through eight coaches to find mine. Those coaches I passed through were clearly one step down from my class on the Moscow-Aralsk train, with no compartments, no air conditioning and six berths in the same space as four... it was hot and cramped and I felt pretty awkward bundling my way through with my big rucksack.
As soon as I found my more comfortable compartment, I was immediately relocated to an available berth elsewhere in the carriage after the policeman holding a private dinner party in my original compartment had a word with the carriage guard. Settling in to my unofficial berth, sharing the compartment with a young mother and her one-year-old, the carriage guard comes and asks me for 200 Rubles for the bedsheets.... I didn't know anything of this charge I protest! It doesn't mention such a thing on my ticket I claim (not totally sure as it's in Russian) and I didn't have to pay such a fee on the Moscow-Aralsk train... He doesn't entirely understand and I'm in no hurry to give way to the charge which sounds a bit fishy... I'm not sure he won't pocket the money. He disappears for a short while and returns with a translator – fellow passenger 16 year old Julia. Now able to communicate, it becomes clear that other passengers have paid this charge... but that doesn't change my position of disappointment at hidden charges.... surprisingly the guard concedes that he can accept, instead of payment and to cover the shortfall in his accounts, a letter outlining why I refused to pay! After some consideration of the possibility that writing such a letter would create more problems than would be worth the money it saved, I decided to do it on principle, since I had the option.
Julia with my statement and her translation.
While the bedsheets charge was being addressed, the policeman whose compartment I was supposed to share arrived at the doorway and inquires, through Julia, why am I traveling alone? Who will help me if something goes wrong? I reply, through Julia, that I don't know, that I'll deal with problems when they occur and I'm sure local people will help me. His response is a grunt that sets him in motion back to his compartment. Was he indirectly threatening me? I ask Julia... she thinks he was just drunk.
Curious and charismatic fellow passenger Ruslan (left) invites himself into my compartment and, requisitioning my Russian phrasebook, leafs through for a word he probably won't find to help his enthusiastic questioning. Intoxicated policeman (right) interrupts for a brief while, asking the same questions as before and insisting I take his photo.
Ruslan and I get on quite well and share some beers at the next station stop and spend much of the rest of the afternoon in entertaining banter with some assistance from Julia, her Mum, Ruslan's friend and my Russian phrasebook.
Friday, 9 April 2010
Aralsk - Meeting the Locals
2009 07 28 – Day 32 - Aralsk
It was fairly clear I was a bit of a novelty in town and this enterprising young lad – Irun (11) - called me over and convinced me to take a photo of the family. The tranquility of our friendly mutual incomprehension was destroyed when his sister exploded around the corner.
Samal (9) was a ball of flailing limbs, energy and charisma who yapped away from the moment she landed, shooting winning grins, comments and questions with attitude in all directions. I'm actually amazed I got this picture, which captures her spirit reasonably well, as it wasn't posed. She was just doing her thang and I happened to be kneeling having just retrieved my camera from Irun.
I continued my walk and Irun and Samal tagged along, at first following at a distance, but later becoming my guides. Initially Irun tried to lead, being the big brother, but Samal was irripressable and brought handfulls of energy and good humour to our 'tour'. The girl could dance, busting some moves that no 9-year-old has any right to pull! Their English was only fractionally more advanced than my Kazakh, but it felt like we made some useful communication. They taught me to count to 10 in Kazakh but by the evening I'd lost it.
Markhaba (right) approached me earlier in the day as I left the market and requested a chance to practice her English. I agreed and we met again in the evening with her friend Yeltay (left) around 20:00, which turned out to be a lovely time of day because the air is really nice as the intensity of the heat goes out of the day and the trees were full of birds singing out the end of the day. Both are medical students at different stages in a different town, but were back home for holidays. Both are Couch Surfers! I wouldn't have expected that. Also surprising is that Yeltay has a friend studying in Dundee! The friend says Dundee has the same wind as Kazakhstan!? I'm not sure what aspect of the Dundee wind the friend is referring to, but as they weren't there I couldn't chase up that interesting comparison. They made me feel very welcome, taking me for a drink and then a tour of local monuments and public spaces of interest.
Economically caped with plastic bags, heroes of the future race around the Soviet era 'Hero Mothers' monument - dedicated to those brave women who bore and raised 10 or more children for the Soviet nation!
It was fairly clear I was a bit of a novelty in town and this enterprising young lad – Irun (11) - called me over and convinced me to take a photo of the family. The tranquility of our friendly mutual incomprehension was destroyed when his sister exploded around the corner.
I continued my walk and Irun and Samal tagged along, at first following at a distance, but later becoming my guides. Initially Irun tried to lead, being the big brother, but Samal was irripressable and brought handfulls of energy and good humour to our 'tour'. The girl could dance, busting some moves that no 9-year-old has any right to pull! Their English was only fractionally more advanced than my Kazakh, but it felt like we made some useful communication. They taught me to count to 10 in Kazakh but by the evening I'd lost it.
Markhaba (right) approached me earlier in the day as I left the market and requested a chance to practice her English. I agreed and we met again in the evening with her friend Yeltay (left) around 20:00, which turned out to be a lovely time of day because the air is really nice as the intensity of the heat goes out of the day and the trees were full of birds singing out the end of the day. Both are medical students at different stages in a different town, but were back home for holidays. Both are Couch Surfers! I wouldn't have expected that. Also surprising is that Yeltay has a friend studying in Dundee! The friend says Dundee has the same wind as Kazakhstan!? I'm not sure what aspect of the Dundee wind the friend is referring to, but as they weren't there I couldn't chase up that interesting comparison. They made me feel very welcome, taking me for a drink and then a tour of local monuments and public spaces of interest.
Economically caped with plastic bags, heroes of the future race around the Soviet era 'Hero Mothers' monument - dedicated to those brave women who bore and raised 10 or more children for the Soviet nation!
Shopping Charades
2009 07 28 – Day 32 - Aralsk
Wandering round the main market, purchasing basic food items, I run into my first real situation where the person I'm trying to communicate with has no English at all and our interaction is reduced to pointing, fingers for numbers and gesturing for sizes.. a bit like shopping with charades. The issue of the total bill is initially a stumbling block before some bright spark steps in with a calculator to show the numbers they're saying.
Wandering round the main market, purchasing basic food items, I run into my first real situation where the person I'm trying to communicate with has no English at all and our interaction is reduced to pointing, fingers for numbers and gesturing for sizes.. a bit like shopping with charades. The issue of the total bill is initially a stumbling block before some bright spark steps in with a calculator to show the numbers they're saying.
Tuesday, 30 March 2010
False Arrival
2009 07 26 – Day 30 - Train to Aralsk
Approaching 24 hours on the train and watching the sun go down, I prepared myself mentally for alighting in Aralsk, Kazakhstan. I was due to arrive at 01:10 and so stayed up into the night, when most of my fellow passengers had gone to sleep. 01:10 came and went and the train didn't stop. Maybe the train is late, I reasoned, we'd been travelling over 24 hours now, so that seemed likely enough. At some point I tried to confirm the delay with the train guard in our carriage, but his English and my Russian combined to prevent any useful information passing between us. Around 03:30 we slowed to pull into a station and I scrambled to extract my bag from under my bed, doing my best not to disturb the sleep of my compartment companions. The train guard intercepted me before I could make it to the door and made it clear that I wasn't to get off here! The ensuing rudimentary, place name based, conversation led to the conclusion and mutual understanding that we had in fact arrived at Uralsk, not Aralsk! Looking closely at my itinerary from Sundowners Overland, my ticket (in Russian) and the onboard timetable (also in Russian) and talking to the guard made me realise that I had been trying to step off the train a whole day early! Stumped at this unexpected turn of events, I returned my bag to under my bed and, too mentally awake to immediately go to bed, I stood in the corridor staring out into the night, mulling over the idea of another 24 hours on the train... it wouldn't be so bad if I'd known it was coming, but as it was I had no food and no water for the day to come and though the carriage had a boiler of free hot water, and I could buy supplies at the first station stop of the day, for the first time since leaving home I wasn't looking forward to tomorrow.
Approaching 24 hours on the train and watching the sun go down, I prepared myself mentally for alighting in Aralsk, Kazakhstan. I was due to arrive at 01:10 and so stayed up into the night, when most of my fellow passengers had gone to sleep. 01:10 came and went and the train didn't stop. Maybe the train is late, I reasoned, we'd been travelling over 24 hours now, so that seemed likely enough. At some point I tried to confirm the delay with the train guard in our carriage, but his English and my Russian combined to prevent any useful information passing between us. Around 03:30 we slowed to pull into a station and I scrambled to extract my bag from under my bed, doing my best not to disturb the sleep of my compartment companions. The train guard intercepted me before I could make it to the door and made it clear that I wasn't to get off here! The ensuing rudimentary, place name based, conversation led to the conclusion and mutual understanding that we had in fact arrived at Uralsk, not Aralsk! Looking closely at my itinerary from Sundowners Overland, my ticket (in Russian) and the onboard timetable (also in Russian) and talking to the guard made me realise that I had been trying to step off the train a whole day early! Stumped at this unexpected turn of events, I returned my bag to under my bed and, too mentally awake to immediately go to bed, I stood in the corridor staring out into the night, mulling over the idea of another 24 hours on the train... it wouldn't be so bad if I'd known it was coming, but as it was I had no food and no water for the day to come and though the carriage had a boiler of free hot water, and I could buy supplies at the first station stop of the day, for the first time since leaving home I wasn't looking forward to tomorrow.
Saturday, 27 March 2010
Train to Aralsk
2009 07 25-26 – Days 29-30 - Train to Aralsk
I was glad to be the first to find my compartment and claim a space for my rucksack, especially 5 minutes later when I was joined by an entire family of six! Given that the compartment was only designed for four, I was somewhat relieved to realise that the four children and father were actually sending off their gran and she would be the only one of their group joining me. Granny Goldie, as I mentally knew her on account of her gold teeth, was a dumpy lady approximately late 60s carrying a permanently dour expression... she didn't seem to be too impressed with my existence. Shortly after the whirlwind that were her descendents deposited her on her berth, the two upper berths of our compartment were claimed by two rugged men of the earth in their late fourties – real characters who appeared to be returning home from work in Moscow, seemingly travelling independently but immediately bonding in anticipation of their shared travelling space. All three of my room-mates seemed nonplussed by my presence, particularly after the subtleties of their questions in Russian rebounded off my mirror of incomprehention. I smiled politely and tried my best to understand, but for the most part I was reduced to shrugging and looking blank. Clearly their English was as good as my Russian. Once that was sorted out, they felt satisfied enough accepting I was there, but otherwise ignoring me... and soon enough we all retired for the night.
My bed at night and shared seat in the day and corridor of our car.
The toilet – more old and worn than dirty, but dirtier than this picture communicates and dirtier than most of us used to modern facilities would like.
Washing in this space was interesting.
Dawn. There's definitely something special about the world rolling by as you fall asleep and that still being the case when you wake. Writing my diary and watching the world go by, I had a strong sense of contentment, of being in the right place at the right time, of everything being as it should be.
The train makes a stop every few hours, each between 5 and 25 minutes, providing opportunities for passengers to stretch their legs and purchase food and drink from locals on the platform. As the day heats up, a popular purchase is a frozen bottle of water which provides a steady supply of cold water as the iceblock within gradually melts. The day gets so hot that melting seems to be the most natural activity, and as my body dissolves in its own puddle of sweat, my brain melts with the banality of never-ending synth-orchestra instrumental reworkings of classic pop and rock tunes oozing from unseen speakers. The searing sun burns the Russian landscape onto my retina.
I was glad to be the first to find my compartment and claim a space for my rucksack, especially 5 minutes later when I was joined by an entire family of six! Given that the compartment was only designed for four, I was somewhat relieved to realise that the four children and father were actually sending off their gran and she would be the only one of their group joining me. Granny Goldie, as I mentally knew her on account of her gold teeth, was a dumpy lady approximately late 60s carrying a permanently dour expression... she didn't seem to be too impressed with my existence. Shortly after the whirlwind that were her descendents deposited her on her berth, the two upper berths of our compartment were claimed by two rugged men of the earth in their late fourties – real characters who appeared to be returning home from work in Moscow, seemingly travelling independently but immediately bonding in anticipation of their shared travelling space. All three of my room-mates seemed nonplussed by my presence, particularly after the subtleties of their questions in Russian rebounded off my mirror of incomprehention. I smiled politely and tried my best to understand, but for the most part I was reduced to shrugging and looking blank. Clearly their English was as good as my Russian. Once that was sorted out, they felt satisfied enough accepting I was there, but otherwise ignoring me... and soon enough we all retired for the night.
My bed at night and shared seat in the day and corridor of our car.
The toilet – more old and worn than dirty, but dirtier than this picture communicates and dirtier than most of us used to modern facilities would like.
Washing in this space was interesting.
Dawn. There's definitely something special about the world rolling by as you fall asleep and that still being the case when you wake. Writing my diary and watching the world go by, I had a strong sense of contentment, of being in the right place at the right time, of everything being as it should be.
The train makes a stop every few hours, each between 5 and 25 minutes, providing opportunities for passengers to stretch their legs and purchase food and drink from locals on the platform. As the day heats up, a popular purchase is a frozen bottle of water which provides a steady supply of cold water as the iceblock within gradually melts. The day gets so hot that melting seems to be the most natural activity, and as my body dissolves in its own puddle of sweat, my brain melts with the banality of never-ending synth-orchestra instrumental reworkings of classic pop and rock tunes oozing from unseen speakers. The searing sun burns the Russian landscape onto my retina.
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