Across Continents

Ken's Blog

Famous at last…

November 20th, 2010

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Not quite sure it’s merited, but seems I’m famous. Of course, there was minor celebrity status back in Georgia. Well, TV and radio interviews. More like five minutes of fame than fifteen. Careful not to let it go to my head. A leather saddle helps.

In any case, Jaime and Andy at The Young Adventurers’ Club have been kind enough to include me amongst much more notable explorers. Theirs is a fresh new website for budding adventurers – lots of ideas and inspirational stories. And a “Questions and Answers” piece we put together.

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Cash for Karzai

November 19th, 2010

Back in Xi’an I’d met Jesse, originally from Delaware in the US. We’d chatted about various things on the tour bus, and whilst wandering around the many souvenir shops we’d been taken to. Much to the irritation of our guide. Inevitably, visas came up in conversation. As did Iran.

Explained I’d chosen not to attempt to pass through the Islamic Republic, preferring instead to head for Central Asia. Nothing against the people themselves I added, just the idea of handing over around two hundred US dollars to apply for a visa, only to have my request denied. Just didn’t appeal.

Jesse seemed to share the same reluctance to visit. We imagined the scene at the Iranian Consulate if he’d sought to apply for entry. “This is the Iranian Consulate – surely you want the Israeli one?” a bemused official might ask. “No, this one. I’d like to apply for a visa”. Struggling to regain his composure, to hide his consternation, the chap would eventually dust down an old box file and produce an application form.

The paperwork complete, they’d be just one question left. “And the application fee, where do I pay that?”. A smile from the official. “Just drop it in the bag by the door. The one marked “Cash for Karzai“. Crisp notes only please”.

[The author hopes to visit Iran one day. Waiting first until Israel have established direct flights into the country. Rumour is that’ll be to Bushehr]

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Taking tea

November 18th, 2010

Tea bags, she explained, weren’t popular. Could only be used once, whereas a quality loose tea might make a few cups. I suggested some of my Northern relatives might disagree. The humour was lost. On everyone. Not even a grimace from my fellow travellers. Seemed best not to elaborate on the rituals surrounding “builders” tea.

Tea ceremony - web

We were visiting a Chinese tea room. Little touristy, but tastefully done nevertheless. Sort of “Whittards” with tables. Here to experience a traditional tea ceremony. Sampling various blends. Sweeter varieties like lychee black tea, popular for the Western palate. Green teas such as Ku Ding, popular for its purported medicinal properties, or Chrysanthemum tea. Good for the throat apparently.

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Tea ceremony

November 18th, 2010

Tea ceremony from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.

Following on from yesterday’s piece on taking tea in China, a short clip to give some insight into the ritual. From Xi’an, central China.

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Troublesome tourist

November 17th, 2010

I wasn’t being a good tourist. Not even mid-morning and I’d be politely, but firmly, rebuffed for not paying proper attention. To the amusement of my fellow English speaking travellers. Then there’d been the various souvenir shops. Hadn’t spent as much as a single Yuan. As much for reasons of practicality as pure taste. Hadn’t really got room in the panniers for a replica Terracotta Warrior. And jade’s not quite my thing. Doesn’t go with any of my outfits.

Kelly - web

It had started with a late night phone call. Said her English name was “Kelly”. I’d heard about these sort of things. Did I speak Chinese, she enquired. A brief pause. “No” I replied. She wanted to meet. Eight thirty next morning. In the lobby. She’d be my tour guide. I was relieved.

Tour group - web

We were a small group. Jesse from Delaware, US, Clive and a friend from the UK, and a French couple. All seasoned travellers. Jesse spending time in Taiwan learning Mandarin. Languages, I discovered as the day went on, were definitely his thing. Fluent French, impeccable accent. Later he’d admitted to a smattering of Spanish. You just knew this’d be an ever so small understatement. Clive had travelled to China by train, meeting up with his friend, an old work colleague, in Hong Kong. And the French couple on a research exchange with a Shanghai University.

There’d been a visit to the Big Goose Pagoda, Banpo Neolithic village, a jade factory, and a pretty decent lunch. But I think what we were really interested in, intrigued by, was the Terracotta Warriors. And we weren’t disappointed.

Terracotta warriors - web

The vast majority of the Warriors are housed inside “Pit One”. It ressembles a large aircraft hangar. Not just the shape. But also the size. The largely natural lighting casts an almost mystical hue over the arranged army. Discovered by chance in 1974, not a single soldier intact, their restoration a testament to patience. Foot soldiers. Generals. Horses.

The General - web

[Author’s note: Xi’an is tourist territory, and prices reflect this. A full day tour, including transport, lunch, and entry tickets for sites such as the Big Goose Pagoda and Terracotta Warriors costs about £40. But, despite my natural reticence to part with cash, worth it. You could make your own (cheaper) arrangements, but then you’d miss out on a guide, and quite a bit more as a result.

Replica Terracotta Warriors – in various sizes – are readily available. Full size, including shipping, comes in at about £1000. Excluding the six litres of Superglue you’ll need to reassemble it….]

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Watching the Westerners

November 17th, 2010

True. I’ve met a few Westerners in Western China. More travellers than tourists, drawn to the oasis towns of Turpan and Dunhuang. But Xi’an is different. Lots more of them. Hardly surprising, the Terracotta Army close by, drawing visitors in. Intriguing to watch.

It starts with breakfast. Guests invited to place their trays on a trolley when they’ve finished. I do so because that’s what the sign says. And I’m English. It’s what I do best. The Germans, a couple of retired couples, their smart casuals and scarfs an immediate giveaway, do the same. I’d expect nothing less.

A solitary French couple leave the remnants of breakfast behind for others to clear away. I’d sought to engage them in conversation, explaining “Je parle peu le Francais“. A young Spanish couple keep themselves to themselves. Something to do with Franco.

Later I meet Jesse, Clive and another French couple on a tour to the Terracotta Army. More travellers than tourists. Sense of adventure. There’s mention of Pizza Hut, KFC and McDonalds. General agreement that there’s nothing wrong with the odd spot of Western familiarity. Think we all admitted to sneaking into one of the chains, or had plans to do so before leaving Xi’an.

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Nine million bicycles

November 16th, 2010

“There are nine million bicycles in Beijing
That’s a fact
It’s a thing we can’t deny”

with thanks to Katie Melua, Georgian born singer / songwriter

Bicycles - web

Nation of cyclists. Certainly quite a few, but bicycles no longer the dominant form of transport I’d imagined. Still widely used in rural districts, for many the only affordable means of getting around. But in the towns and cities, you’re much more likely to be run over by an electric bicycle or scooter.

There is the justifiable perception that the bicycle is the poor man’s transport. Ironic then that just as their urban use begins to wane in China, it rises in Western nations as an ecologically sound alternative to more polluting means of getting about.

Bicycles- plastic - web

For the most part, bicycles here are strictly functional. A smattering of mountain bikes. Smart road machines with drop handlebars a rarity. A few touring cycles. Quality is at the lower end of what you’d find in the West. But not a criticism. More a testament to good design. No need for more expensive components if you’re wandering no more than just a few miles.

And wander they do. Well, more ambling. Liable to drift out into your path without warning. Frustrating when you’ve quite a distance to cover. As is the oft quoted assertion you can source anything for a bicycle in China. Travel light they say. Dare say this might be true in the metropolises like Shanghai or Beijing. But not elsewhere. A temporary fix maybe. A bodge.

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Frustrucks and farhads

November 16th, 2010

Impeccable English. For which they’d apologised. They usually did. They were German. Philipp and Susanne. In China encouraging students to come and study in Bavaria. And terribly polite. Not even a raised eyebrow as I struggled to recall my truly appalling grasp of German – frustrucks and farhads. Breakfasts and bicycles.

I’d met them by chance, sharing the same small hotel in the walled city of Xi’an. Explained I’d followed the river Donau – the Danube – through Bavaria. Spent a couple of days in Suzanne’s home city of Regensburg. Recounted a few stories from those early days on the road. Riding with Manfred and Ute. Strange gnomes in Straubing. Pasta cooked in a kettle.

Truth is, I feel a certain kinship with the Germans. They go out in the world. Brings a wry smile to my face when I explain that in every country I’ve travelled through, encountering them is a question of not if but when. My favourite Western European nation. After my own of course.

[Author’s note: Revisiting my early writings, I’d been surprised to see how much English humour had crept into my pieces about Germany. So here’s hoping Philipp and Susanne realise my professed love of their own nation, of their culture, is quite genuine. Which it is. And pretty pleased that I remembered to emphasise the firmly ironic nature of the Straubing gnomes….]

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Stanley and the stamp

November 15th, 2010

Time for some more armchair adventure. Wrestling with officialdom, a less than useless guidebook, flurries of taxis, and an evasive stamp. Struggling to smile. Masking frustration an unenviable necessity. No matter how tempting it might be to do otherwise.

Progress hadn’t been what I’d hoped for. I’d always known it would take the best part of two to three months to cross China, comparable to my journey through Europe. But a few bouts of illness now meant I was running out of time on my current visa. Not an unsurmountable problem. Entitled to apply for a further thirty day visa whilst still in China. Not as much as I’d like, but it would do for now.

So, consulting my dubious guidebook, it was off to the local Police Public Security Bureau. I’d done my research. Photocopies of my passport. And my bank cards to show I could support myself without being a burden on the State. Couple of mug shots and a pen. What could be simpler? Quite a lot it seemed. For one thing, a friendly policewoman explained, yes, this was indeed the Bureau. But they no longer processed visa applications. Hadn’t done so for a while. That was now done at the Traffic Police Headquarters outside the city walls. Obvious really. So, helpfully provided with the correct address in Chinese, I headed off to find a taxi. First of many.

Eventually finding the right building, found myself in a large hall, packed with passport photographers, photocopiers and long queues. Quite bewildering. It was going to be a long morning. Or it would have been, had someone not encouraged me to wander up to the next floor. The visa office for foreigners. Manned by a solitary policewoman. She looked bored.

“Yes”, she said nodding, “You can apply for a new visa here”. Provided me with an application form. But my photocopies weren’t quite in order. Had to be A4. And I’d need a copy of my ’Aliens Registration Form’ from the hotel. Seemed reasonable enough, plenty of time to put everything in order and submit my request before they closed for the day. So, off I went. Another taxi.

A little while later….. and another taxi

Back once more at the PSB, the mornings helpful policewoman had been replaced by a policeman. This time there was a problem. My registration form from the hotel needed an official stamp. Smiling with gritted teeth, I enquired as to when the Bureau would close for the day. “Perhaps four” he suggested, a little shrug of the shoulders. I doubted I could make it back in time. A day lost. But surely a problem easily fixed. Return first thing in the morning.

Back at the hotel….

The hotel did have a stamp. But it was in Shanghai. Which is nowhere near Xi’an. This was not going well. I enquired as to whether John Lei, the hotel manager I’d met on my first night, might have one. Stanley, the front desk manager, assured me he’d try and contact John, away until the next morning, and see what could be done. Fingers crossed. Resigned to a frustrating evening of waiting, of hoping. Then a phone call. From reception. Problem solved. With what looked like a very shiny new stamp. Back on track.

Stamp - web

The next morning. Early

Same solitary policewoman. Still looking bored. But very helpful. And impeccable English. All was now in order. Just had to pay about sixteen pounds for the visa. Another office. Return with the receipt and I’d be finished for the day. Took about ten minutes. Return in five days to collect my passport. Things were looking up at last….

[Author’s note: Despite the term ’visa extension’ being widely used, it’s a misnomer. What you actually get is a new visa – a zero entry one as you’re already in country – obtainable from the local (Police) Public Security Bureau (PSB).

In theory, you could apply anywhere but, unless you’re a fairly competent Mandarin speaker, I’d recommend locations, such as Xi’an, where they’re used to dealing with foreigners. And where they speak English. Note that your thirty days starts from the date you submit your application, processing normally takes five working days, so once you get your passport back with the new visa, you’ve usually got just twenty three more days.

If you want to find the PSB in Xi’an – about four kilometres outside the city walls – just show the following to any taxi driver. About £2 each way from the city centre:

PSB - Xian - web

Worked for me!]

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Cruel world

November 15th, 2010

East. West. Capitalist. Communist. Familiar divisions. But ones that have all become blurred, faded. Less apparent. Classification a very human activity, a tool to simplify, to give structure, meaning. I’d chanced on one that seemed to be much more resilient, clear cut. Giving shape to the world. Subtitles and dubbing.

It’s not perfect of course. These things never are. But simple to apply. Turn on the TV, hunt for the local foreign film channel. And wait. It can only go one of two ways. And be quite cruel. I’d the TV on in the background. For company you understand. Nice little French film. Sophie Marceau. A picture of loveliness. But forget Chinese water torture. They’d dubbed it. Into Mandarin. I mean. In China? Unforgiveable. I’d turned the sound off. Attempted to lip read. But my schoolboy French not really up to the job.

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