Across Continents

Ken's Blog

Outbound to Almaty

July 19th, 2010

Across the aisle a woman sat painting her nails, the solvent quite noticeable in the confines of the aircraft cabin. She was English, but expressed her frustration at the delayed departure in fluent Russian, delivered with native passion. Her two young children seemed oblivious, content with their crayons and a small jotting pad between them. Her husband sat behind, snoring loudly. Further up, a young man stared intently at his map. Pamirs. North West shading. Neatly groomed beard. Plastic mountain boots tucked under the seat in front. Clean, barely scuffed.

My own travelling companions appeared to share my stoicism. A Canadian mining engineer, bound for Bishkek, quietly spoken, unflustered, probably just resigned to the situation. He’d flown from Toronto the previous day. Had done quite a bit of cycle touring in the past, and shared a few anecdotes. And a young woman studying the fashion business. Paris. Haute Courtière. Freelance writer for Harpers Bazaar. We chatted about films for quite a while, her love of old movies, Casablanca, Alfred Hitchcock, Audrey Hepburn.

Two hours into the supposed flight back to Almaty and we were still on the apron. Technical problems. The only 757 left in the airline’s fleet, a single in-flight film that flickered between colour washed technicolour and black and white. Teased by the cabin magazine extolling the virtues of their other, rather more modern, aircraft.

I’d spent my last night in the UK for some time in one of the smaller London hostels, enjoying a final coffee in the well-kept courtyard garden. Listening to opera being performed in a large marquee in the adjacent park. Retired early, only to be woken suddenly by the fire alarm. 3.32am. Hastily dressed, standing for a while in the barely perceptible drizzle before the inevitable all clear. Dozed for a few more hours, restless, before rising just after five. Pensive.

Courtyard garden

I sat once more in the courtyard, alone, the damp air invigorating, helping stave off the inevitable weariness for a little while longer. Reflecting on my time back in the UK. A perfect, orderly world. I knew it wasn’t, it just seemed it. I’d kept myself busy, securing visas, a second passport, a stab at documentary making. And time spent with close family. My parents. And a chance to see my young niece, just a few weeks old when I’d last seen her days before departure the previous autumn. Memories for the road.

Share

Nation of Convenience

July 18th, 2010

Assuming you’ve spotted the great British Bobby in the closing scene of the last episode of "Nation of Convenience"….

There were rules. Strictly business. Fresh visas, a second passport, a visit to see Laura and The Outward Bound Trust’s fund-raising team in the Capital. Confined largely to London and the Consulates, far from my own home in Somerset. Contact limited mostly to close family. I was here to get a job done, quickly and efficiently, before returning to the fray.

It’s established practice for those on long-haul expeditions to be able to return to their home country once in a while. Of course, some don’t. But, provided you keep it short, and it’s for good reason, that’s ok. An accepted necessity.

Just as the expedition has evolved into as much, if not more, a mental challenge as a physical one, the real issue I’d had to contend with was the psychology of return to one’s home country. Hence the rules, the absolute focus on treating it as a Nation of Convenience. No wandering off, drifting, getting too settled.

A few people, well-intentioned, had suggested I might return in secret, the minimum of fuss. But that would have compromised that most fundamental of principles, the unwavering honesty of the blog, if only by omission. And that’s how the mini-documentary, "Nation of Convenience" came about.

I’d been toying for a while with the idea of making a short documentary for the website. Something new. Fresh. I’d a little time on my hands between visas, thought it might be interesting to explore the political and cultural sides of London as if it was the Capital of one of the less reputable ’Stans. Lots of material. And a bit of fun as well. Thought it would help me stay focused, and, with a few carefully selected landmarks, allow my destination to be revealed gradually.

In practice, developing the storyboard, scripting, shooting and editing took quite a bit longer than I’d ever imagined. Wasn’t exactly finished in the Departure lounge at Heathrow, but close. Not quite as polished as I’d have liked, but it was only ever meant to be a visual essay. Might do another sometime soon. Working title "Enter the Dragon", assuming I don’t bump into Bruce Lee first.

[The author would particularly welcome constructive feedback on the "Nation of Convenience" documentary, his first stab at programme making. But no need to mention one of the continuity errors – the frequent swaps between red and blue t-shirts. Spotted that one! And if you’re feeling brave, see if you can list all the locations, and the landmarks in the background]

Share

Nation of Convenience – Episode Three

July 17th, 2010

Nation of Convenience – Episode Three from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.

The final instalment of Ken’s mini-documentary about his time in a Nation of Convenience. Still curious as to which country this might be? There are a few clues in this episode, not least in the final scene….

Share

Nation of Convenience – Episode Two

July 16th, 2010

Nation of Convenience – Episode Two from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.

In the second of three instalments, Ken continues his exploration of the politics and culture of his Nation of Convenience.

Share

Nation of Convenience – Episode One

July 15th, 2010

Nation of Convenience – Episode One from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.

In the first of a three part mini-documentary, Ken explores the politics and culture of his Nation of Convenience

Share

Drawing to a close

July 14th, 2010

China visa2

Ninety days. I smiled. A fresh visa, sufficient to cross China in its entirety. Last piece of the jigsaw. I thanked Yan for her help, not least for pointing out I’d be able to apply for three months rather than the sixty days I’d imagined. Leaving the agency’s small, stuffy first floor office, I made my way down the steep stairs and back into the busy street.

Small cafe across the way. Chance to reflect on the merits of Plan B. Success I thought, by any measure. I’d the visas I needed, more generous terms than I’d expected. I’d even acquired a second passport, enabling visas to be obtained on my behalf whilst I continued to travel. Insurance. I’d no desire to repeat this diversion. Ready now to leave this Nation of Convenience and return to Almaty. Hong Kong bound.

[Author’s note: If you’ve familiar with Mandarin characters take a close look at the picture above – bit of a clue as to where this Nation of Convenience is.. I did say I’d be bold and decisive!]

Share

In the bag

July 13th, 2010

In the bag from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.

Ken describes his delight at obtaining a ninety day visa for China

Share

Religious contemplations

July 12th, 2010

Footfalls on the gravel beneath the window. Sounded loud. Half expected the grey haired gentleman I’d joined in the hostel’s Quiet Room to tut. But he remained absorbed, aligning religious pamphlets into small, neat piles on the table in front of him. Sometimes he’d move one a little, like pieces on a chess board, and the process would repeat. Another man sat in the corner by the window. Silent. Contemplative.

I’d wandered in a little while earlier, clasping a cup of coffee and my notebook. The grey haired man objected at once. Coffee was not allowed. I swiftly pointed out that the sign on the door clearly stated this to be a Quiet Room, nothing more, and sat down across the table from him. He stared at me for a while. Occasionally I’d smile back. Flicking through the various pages of scribbles I’d made earlier, the wire spiral binding scraping a little on the table.

Abruptly he got up, hastily gathered his leaflets together and left. Just myself and the man in the corner. Then he too rose from his chair, slinging a small knapsack on his back. A wooden cross, about three feet in length and several across, engraved with Christ’s name, hung from it. He noticed I was staring at it. Told him I admired those who had the conviction of their beliefs to display them so publicly.

He spoke calmly, his words considered. He needed no church, no organised religion. Salvation, eternal life, or death, ever after, was between him and God alone. He had a sureness, a sense of purpose, humility. He sought not to convert, just to explain. Much more Christian than the grey haired gentleman.

Share

Fruitful but footsore

July 11th, 2010

Her name was Yan – pronounced Yen she explained. And there was good news. Chances are she’d be able to secure me a fresh Chinese visa for ninety days, sufficient to reach Hong Kong without having to seek a further extension on the way. I’d quite enjoyed visiting the Kazakhstan Consulate, queuing mostly amongst couriers, observing the camaraderie, listening to the banter, the stories. Just the odd individual applicant. Adding to the richness of this venture. But I’d already visited two Chinese Consulates and really didn’t find the thought of a third that appealing. So I’d decided to use an agent.

Earlier in the day I’d retrieved my passport, complete with a fresh visa, from the Kazakhstan Consulate. A brief coffee to revive myself, still struggling with the time difference, and I’d headed off to an appointment at a non-descript Government office across the city. I’d a plan to sort out some travel papers whilst I’d some time on my hands, but success would depend largely on my ability to plead my case. Hadn’t exactly worked at the Chinese Consulate.

I’d found the building without too much difficulty, picking my way towards the entrance through people milling around outside, presumably waiting for their turn to enter. Inside, a lengthy queue, bag search, another line to join, a ticket, more waiting, then eventually my turn to make my request.

It started badly and seemed to get worse. None of my paperwork was in order, the letter of support I had wasn’t acceptable, passport photographs the wrong background. But I was quite convinced my case had genuine merit, so I stuck at it. Then a glimmer of hope. The official would at least discuss the matter with her supervisor, see if anything could be done. A lengthy wait, which I took to be a good thing. The woman – her name was Krishna – returned. Yes, there were exceptional circumstances, yours was a charitable venture. Others would have to consider your request further, no guarantees, but there was a good chance it would be accepted.

I left the office feeling content, a sense of progress being made, even if it had been a little tortuous, the outcome not entirely certain. And even if my request was eventually denied, I’d at least gleaned enough to know how to couch a further go in more favourable terms. I’d then headed off to visit a Chinese visa agent.

So, with my passport entrusted to Yan at the agency for a few days, I was off to meet an old friend with extensive experience of living under oppressive regimes, revolution, frequently travelling to countries devastated by conflict. Wanted to know what she made of this place.

[Author’s note: Using an agent to obtain visas incurs a fee, but saves time and hassle, especially if you have quite a few to obtain. But if you can afford the time, or your funds preclude you doing otherwise, going along to the various Consulates in person is quite a fascinating experience. Sometimes a little frustrating, but an enriching one nevertheless]

Share

One down…

July 10th, 2010

One down… from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.

With his Kazakhstan visa now in the bag, Ken outlines his next move.

[Author’s note: This clip will shortly be featuring in a short film about Plan B, the securing of fresh visas… shot on location around the nation’s Capital]

Share
Terms & Conditions of Use | Copyright © 2009-2025 Ken Roberts