This was a great trip. I enjoyed myself thoroughly. I saw interesting places, ate interesting foods. Some things worked out, some things didn't.
A lot of people ask me what was my favorite place. I am not sure. Everywhere I went has something to recommend it. But when I examine my trip, I must note that I planned to spend a week in Israel but instead spent a month. That's meaningful.
There are many things I would do differently next time. I brought some things I never used, like my GPS. I also brought spares of things that were readily available, like razors and AA batteries. The world's cities have what you need. Even Kyzyl had everything I needed.
I wish I had gone when I was younger. Last September I completely tore an ACL in my left knee which limited my daily mileage. Being younger would also make the time changes easier.
Being younger might have forced me to stay in lower cost quarters, like hostels, etc. That would have been a good social and local information opportunity. But the web probably has all the information anyone needs, you just don't know which site is reliable.
I was smart to bring an array of credit cards. Amex acceptance is a bit thin overseas. And at least two of my cards were hacked while on my trip. Having extra credit cards helped a lot. I was able to get cash at an ATM everywhere. Never use exchange windows. NEVER.
Due to the ad hoc nature of my trip I didn't get my visas in advance. That turned out to be an issue, but that's the price I paid for no real planning ahead. And there are no Russian visa expediting services in Israel (Israelis don't need a visa to visit Russia). I should have tried sooner to get visas in Paris. Oh well.
Due to my age and declining energy I think I'll plan my trip in more detail next time. Getting an apartment for at least a week every place I visit will be the standard next time. I am tired of staying in hotels for such a long time. And the intermediate travel, packing and unpacking gets old.
The bills are not all in, but I feel like I spent less than $13k on the trip. Most of what I spent was for lodging, which was never more than $100 a day, and often much less. I didn't eat at sit down places very often (except in Paris cafes), so food was cheap. The recent strength of the dollar was a big help. A few years ago while traveling in Europe it was $1.42/Euro, now it is about $1.10/Euro. That was a big help.
I used almost 100k frequent flyer miles' for the first outbound flight to Paris and the flight home from China. That saved a lot of money.
I carried a week's worth of clothing. That worked out well. I didn't bring a heavy coat, but I did have layers I never used. I was only really cold once, but I am a heater and don't get cold easily.
I brought a camera and took pictures for the blog. I also brought a small tablet that I could have used for a camera, so maybe the camera was overkill. The tablet worked great everywhere except China. In China all of the Google sites are blocked, plus many others. Add a $5 keyboard/case to the tablet and I have what I need. Since the tablet is from Amazon it comes with six months of the Washington Post for free. Nice.
Some times I really wanted a suitcase with wheels or rollers. Next time.
A friend wrote saing that "the world got together and arranged for me to have an interesting trip." I am not so sure that is true. Maybe I just distilled out the boring parts so the blog was interesting. Maybe I have a unique way of presenting events that makes them interesting. Maybe I made the whole thing up. Maybe it's a bit of each?
I'll let you decide.
My best memory of the trip was a fleeting one. I was walking in St. Petersburg on an ice and snow speckled sidewalk in a busy area. There was plenty of pedestrian traffic in both directions when I was passed by a woman going the opposite direction. She was pretty, 30s, nicely made up and hair done, nicely dressed from the waist up. The memorable thing was that she had no legs, and she was in a low wooden cart pulling herself along with a large stone in her left hand. She may have had partial hips, but certainly no legs from the hips down. She was keeping up with traffic on her way somewhere in the cold.
In the States she would have been in an electric wheel chair. Or maybe just staying home out of the cold. But this legless woman was getting along just fine. Whenever I think my life is hard or hopeless I'll remember that plucky woman from St. Petersburg. She was a lesson to us all.
I am already planning out my next trip, this time around the world in a more southern latitude. I am wishing for Pitcarn Island, but maybe that's a bit too much to shoot for. I'll have to start another blog for sure!
Wednesday, March 30, 2016
Beijing Days: Almost Home!
I seem to go to China every ten years, and I am amazed every time. When I was there in the early 1980s there was news that the first private car had been purchased in Cina (by a woman). Now it is the world's largest car market. And the traffic to go with it.
Describing China can be done just by listing superlatives: largest, longest, fastest, biggest, most of this or that, etc., etc. And Beijing is one of those places that is a superlative in China. Amazing, just amazing.
My few days are taken up with walking and sights. The Forbidden City is truly large enough to be a city unto itself. Tienamen Square has had the bloodied bricks removed from 1999 student demonstrations. There are police checkpoints for all pedistrians near the Square. I can't imagine such a thing back home. The subways are efficient and not too crowded. Better than taking a cab.
On the second day I opt for the Military Museum, which I have never seen. It is full of Chinese and Russian equipment, plus some American and European stuff. Maybe from the Vietnam or Korean Wars? No Westerners in sight here.
I take a cab to the airport during the day. The amount of industry we pass rivals any city in the states, maybe more. Coal power plants are everywhere, traffic is awful.
My departure from China is without fanfare. I had decided to spring for business class for te flight home using my miles. Well worth it for the 17 hour flight.
I'll post some final remarks, tips and observations in my final blog.
Describing China can be done just by listing superlatives: largest, longest, fastest, biggest, most of this or that, etc., etc. And Beijing is one of those places that is a superlative in China. Amazing, just amazing.
My few days are taken up with walking and sights. The Forbidden City is truly large enough to be a city unto itself. Tienamen Square has had the bloodied bricks removed from 1999 student demonstrations. There are police checkpoints for all pedistrians near the Square. I can't imagine such a thing back home. The subways are efficient and not too crowded. Better than taking a cab.
On the second day I opt for the Military Museum, which I have never seen. It is full of Chinese and Russian equipment, plus some American and European stuff. Maybe from the Vietnam or Korean Wars? No Westerners in sight here.
I take a cab to the airport during the day. The amount of industry we pass rivals any city in the states, maybe more. Coal power plants are everywhere, traffic is awful.
My departure from China is without fanfare. I had decided to spring for business class for te flight home using my miles. Well worth it for the 17 hour flight.
I'll post some final remarks, tips and observations in my final blog.
Mao's Tomb, by Tienamen Square.
Tienamen Square
A McDonalds by the Military Museum.
Military Museum
Day 127: It Almost Happens Again!
After I flew from Kyzyl to Kraznoyarsk, I took a cab into town to stay at an Ibis Hotel. The staff is happy to have someone to practice their English on. Not much to see here, but a few photos of town are below. Potholes that could literally swallow a car!
The real adventure happened after I took the cab to the airport. The cab driver was very nice, even gave me his email in case I needed to return to town. Kraznoyarsk Airport has two terminals, one for domestic flights, one for international. One gate each terminal. So I sit in the international 'terminal' waiting for my flight to be called. After a while I ask and find out they don't call out the flights so I am the lat one to check in. The last one to get my visa cheked, the lat one to go through immigration.
But wait a second.....
The guy who checks my passport for my Chinese visa comes running over to the Immigration booth to call me back. I am traveling on what the Chinese call a "72 hour visa" which is kind of a free visitor's pass. The way it works is that the day of arrival does not count. Second and third day count as 24 hours each. The last day counts as 24 hours also, no matter what time of the day tou leave. I have read this on the Chinese government's web site many times. My flight gets to Beijing at 2 a.m. on a Thursday, which is good for me. My departure flight leaves at 3 p.m. Sunday. But here comes trouble.
The visa guy won't let me leave. He is stuck on the 72 hours limit. And he can't seem to skip the first day like te rules say. He starts saying nyet a lot. A LOT! He makes a few phone calls but never gets a real answer. More nyets.
Oddly enough, the visa rule book they use is written in English. There is no Russian version available. I pick up the book, find the relavent passage and try to explain. I draw a calendar which he uses to show his (incorrect) methodology. I must admit my frustration is starting to morph into anger. Not only will I lose a day in China (which I've already paid for), but I'll be stuck somewhere I really don't want to be. Strand me in Paris. Or Rome. Or Chicago. Or even Kyzyl! But please oh please don't strand me in the Kraznoyarsk airport!
Then, at the last possible second he relents. He makes it clear I won't be allowed into China, but he let's me go. Afterwards I wish I had gotten his email address so I could tell him I was easily admitted into China. The flight is long but pleasant. I shake off the weight of the Russian beaurocracy with some gratitude and self-congratlaions.
Don't get me wrong, I truly enjoyed my time in Russia. But on reflection it was a difficult place to enter and a difficult place to leave. You can call it Russia if you like, but I just see it a the same old Soviet beaurocracy in action. And even after all that, a great place to visit!
Downtown Kraznoyarsk.
The real adventure happened after I took the cab to the airport. The cab driver was very nice, even gave me his email in case I needed to return to town. Kraznoyarsk Airport has two terminals, one for domestic flights, one for international. One gate each terminal. So I sit in the international 'terminal' waiting for my flight to be called. After a while I ask and find out they don't call out the flights so I am the lat one to check in. The last one to get my visa cheked, the lat one to go through immigration.
But wait a second.....
The guy who checks my passport for my Chinese visa comes running over to the Immigration booth to call me back. I am traveling on what the Chinese call a "72 hour visa" which is kind of a free visitor's pass. The way it works is that the day of arrival does not count. Second and third day count as 24 hours each. The last day counts as 24 hours also, no matter what time of the day tou leave. I have read this on the Chinese government's web site many times. My flight gets to Beijing at 2 a.m. on a Thursday, which is good for me. My departure flight leaves at 3 p.m. Sunday. But here comes trouble.
The visa guy won't let me leave. He is stuck on the 72 hours limit. And he can't seem to skip the first day like te rules say. He starts saying nyet a lot. A LOT! He makes a few phone calls but never gets a real answer. More nyets.
Oddly enough, the visa rule book they use is written in English. There is no Russian version available. I pick up the book, find the relavent passage and try to explain. I draw a calendar which he uses to show his (incorrect) methodology. I must admit my frustration is starting to morph into anger. Not only will I lose a day in China (which I've already paid for), but I'll be stuck somewhere I really don't want to be. Strand me in Paris. Or Rome. Or Chicago. Or even Kyzyl! But please oh please don't strand me in the Kraznoyarsk airport!
Then, at the last possible second he relents. He makes it clear I won't be allowed into China, but he let's me go. Afterwards I wish I had gotten his email address so I could tell him I was easily admitted into China. The flight is long but pleasant. I shake off the weight of the Russian beaurocracy with some gratitude and self-congratlaions.
Don't get me wrong, I truly enjoyed my time in Russia. But on reflection it was a difficult place to enter and a difficult place to leave. You can call it Russia if you like, but I just see it a the same old Soviet beaurocracy in action. And even after all that, a great place to visit!
Downtown Kraznoyarsk.
Monday, March 28, 2016
Kyzyl in Photos
Having escaped Kyzyl, a fewphotos arein order. But I forgot to mention that I deliberately got a haircut in Kyzyl. Not too bad for $4.
I also forgot to mention that I told my interrigators about my blog. They asked if this incident would be mentioned in the blog. I told them it depended on how things turned out. Won't they be surprised? They probably won't bother to look.
I have posted some photos Kyzyl. A cold place in March.
I also forgot to mention that I told my interrigators about my blog. They asked if this incident would be mentioned in the blog. I told them it depended on how things turned out. Won't they be surprised? They probably won't bother to look.
I have posted some photos Kyzyl. A cold place in March.
This is the park where the "Center of Asia" monument stands. It's the round globe with the obelisk on top.
There must have been an ice sculpture contest recently. Since Septemeber for sure!
Local statues in Kyzyl (Lenin and Ghengis Kahn)
This is the front of the building where I was detained. As I leaving the black cat showed up, a bit late.
Frozen river that runs past Kyzyl.
Some photos of Kyzyl outdoors, markets, etc.
Kyzyl Airport. Three flights a week.
Friday, March 25, 2016
Day 122, On the Road Again, Cant Wait to Get on the Road Again...
I have never done this before, but I have surely done it now. I spent last night in a horrible hotel room by the Krasnoyarsk Airport. The wall paper is pealing off the walls, the floor creaks with every step and like all Russian indoor spaces it is ridiculously hot. Despite temperatures below 20 degrees outside I have to keep a window open to keep it bearable.
Somewhere between Moscow and Krasnoyarsk I have lost any sense of time. When I wake up the next morning I have this weird feeling of unease. I am sure my plane doesn't leave for hours so I eat a casual breakfast. When I return to my room I figure out that I have missed my flight to Kyzyl. In all my years I have never missed a flight this badly. I know there isn't another flight for two days, and that is the same plane I am planning to return on.
I rush over to the airport on the off chance my flight was delayed. No such luck. It takes me half an hour to find someone who can help me. This time I find someone who has about the same level of German as I do. I try to find another way to Kyzyl. Taxi? Nein. Car rent? Nien. Autobus? Iche frage. He asks at the bus kiosk. Ja, there is a bus in 15 minutes. I run the quarter mile back to the hotel and try to offer anyone money to take me back to the airport. Language and job duties prevent any takers. I pack quickly and take off towards the bus stop. On the way I engage my collision avoidance system with that oncoming truck I mentioned in an earlier blog. I arrive safely at the bus stop and buy my $22 ticket.
To my surprise my newfound German-speaking helper is standing by. It is below 20 outside and he waited for me. I was surprised at the gesture, but then I figure out why is there. We exchange information is out broken German, where we learned it, where I am from, etc. Then The Big Question comes out, the one I have heard before and expect to never hear again in Russia:
"Why are you going to Kyzyl?'
I explain it is the center of Asia, that geography interests me and I try to tell Fynman's story. He gets its a bit, I think. (BTW, he had already asked me about my missing coat when we first met.) But in his eyes I can see he doesn't get it. I could go anywhere in the world I wanted to, why would I want to go to Kyzyl? In my head a little voice agrees with him, tells me to just give up and head on. But I can't, I just can't. If you told me that Kyzyl was quarantined, on fire, radioactive and full of zombies I would still want to go there. Maybe more. I am dying of thirst and Kyzyl is a cool spring for my parched throat. I am as driven as any lemming, and Kyzyl is my sea.
The bus arrives and I say goodbye to my best friend for the day, which I tell him. He tells me Kyzyl is about 300 kilometers away, so I estimate a four hour ride. WRONG AGAIN KYZYL BOY!
The bus ride ends up being about 14 hours long, covering over 500 of snowy roads. Some of the scenery is spectacular, but most is dreary. Our first bathroom stop consists of a shack with a divider between the genders. There is a rough slab of concrete with two holes cut through, a dirt hole beneath. Over the cold winter months a kind of yellowish ice rim has formed around the hole, making it almost disappear. I am grateful for the cold, as it holds back the smell. The level of primitive facilities does not comfort me about what the future holds. Just WHY am I going to Kyzyl?
The bus stops every two hours or so for a smoke, food and bathroom break. There are two drivers that take turns. At the food stops they explain my lack of Russian by saying something I imagine is "That's our American passenger." They seem a bit proud that they hauling my tired carcass over the Russian steppe. The food at one stop is amazingly good, a kind of chicken tortellini in chicken broth. I also try a skewer of charcoal roasted pork, which is available at each stop. Yummy.
We finally pull into Kyzyl after midnight. It is my good fortune that a few enterprising cab drivers are hanging about looking for fares. I pick a cab that is run my two Mongolians who are besides themselves with joy that they have a customer. I just say hotel and off we go in a car that shouldn't be allowed on any road to a decent hotel. I have a prepaid reservation somewhere but I could care less. The double shift and late hour has taken all of my willpower away. Its a good lesson that reinforces me not to miss future flights.
While checking in there a brief snag because I don't have the proper paperwork for traveling around Russia. I share what I have and mention Moscow and that seems to fix the problem. I was wrong, I had put a temporary patch over a permanent problem. The patch would not last forever, or even the length of my stay in Kyzyl. The Russian bear lurks and I don't see or hear him. He will pounce when he is ready, and not before. But that is for a later blog entry. Tonight I am in Kyzyl! My compliments Proffessor F.!
Somewhere between Moscow and Krasnoyarsk I have lost any sense of time. When I wake up the next morning I have this weird feeling of unease. I am sure my plane doesn't leave for hours so I eat a casual breakfast. When I return to my room I figure out that I have missed my flight to Kyzyl. In all my years I have never missed a flight this badly. I know there isn't another flight for two days, and that is the same plane I am planning to return on.
I rush over to the airport on the off chance my flight was delayed. No such luck. It takes me half an hour to find someone who can help me. This time I find someone who has about the same level of German as I do. I try to find another way to Kyzyl. Taxi? Nein. Car rent? Nien. Autobus? Iche frage. He asks at the bus kiosk. Ja, there is a bus in 15 minutes. I run the quarter mile back to the hotel and try to offer anyone money to take me back to the airport. Language and job duties prevent any takers. I pack quickly and take off towards the bus stop. On the way I engage my collision avoidance system with that oncoming truck I mentioned in an earlier blog. I arrive safely at the bus stop and buy my $22 ticket.
To my surprise my newfound German-speaking helper is standing by. It is below 20 outside and he waited for me. I was surprised at the gesture, but then I figure out why is there. We exchange information is out broken German, where we learned it, where I am from, etc. Then The Big Question comes out, the one I have heard before and expect to never hear again in Russia:
"Why are you going to Kyzyl?'
I explain it is the center of Asia, that geography interests me and I try to tell Fynman's story. He gets its a bit, I think. (BTW, he had already asked me about my missing coat when we first met.) But in his eyes I can see he doesn't get it. I could go anywhere in the world I wanted to, why would I want to go to Kyzyl? In my head a little voice agrees with him, tells me to just give up and head on. But I can't, I just can't. If you told me that Kyzyl was quarantined, on fire, radioactive and full of zombies I would still want to go there. Maybe more. I am dying of thirst and Kyzyl is a cool spring for my parched throat. I am as driven as any lemming, and Kyzyl is my sea.
The bus arrives and I say goodbye to my best friend for the day, which I tell him. He tells me Kyzyl is about 300 kilometers away, so I estimate a four hour ride. WRONG AGAIN KYZYL BOY!
The bus ride ends up being about 14 hours long, covering over 500 of snowy roads. Some of the scenery is spectacular, but most is dreary. Our first bathroom stop consists of a shack with a divider between the genders. There is a rough slab of concrete with two holes cut through, a dirt hole beneath. Over the cold winter months a kind of yellowish ice rim has formed around the hole, making it almost disappear. I am grateful for the cold, as it holds back the smell. The level of primitive facilities does not comfort me about what the future holds. Just WHY am I going to Kyzyl?
The bus stops every two hours or so for a smoke, food and bathroom break. There are two drivers that take turns. At the food stops they explain my lack of Russian by saying something I imagine is "That's our American passenger." They seem a bit proud that they hauling my tired carcass over the Russian steppe. The food at one stop is amazingly good, a kind of chicken tortellini in chicken broth. I also try a skewer of charcoal roasted pork, which is available at each stop. Yummy.
We finally pull into Kyzyl after midnight. It is my good fortune that a few enterprising cab drivers are hanging about looking for fares. I pick a cab that is run my two Mongolians who are besides themselves with joy that they have a customer. I just say hotel and off we go in a car that shouldn't be allowed on any road to a decent hotel. I have a prepaid reservation somewhere but I could care less. The double shift and late hour has taken all of my willpower away. Its a good lesson that reinforces me not to miss future flights.
While checking in there a brief snag because I don't have the proper paperwork for traveling around Russia. I share what I have and mention Moscow and that seems to fix the problem. I was wrong, I had put a temporary patch over a permanent problem. The patch would not last forever, or even the length of my stay in Kyzyl. The Russian bear lurks and I don't see or hear him. He will pounce when he is ready, and not before. But that is for a later blog entry. Tonight I am in Kyzyl! My compliments Proffessor F.!
Sunday, March 20, 2016
Day 125: The Cold Immovable Beauracracy Meets the Irresistable Force of Western Observations About Irony, or Maybe it's the Jokes, Maybe it's the Audience, But it's Definitely NOT the Timing!
Timing is everything. You meet the girl by chance because of timing. You get the job because of timing. You have children because of timing. You actually exist because of timing. I have been run over by a truck because of timing. Our cumulative history, even our evolution is a series of timely circumstances. Change the timing of events in the past and you, me, this whole thing we call reality simply fails to exist. One could argue the entire universe is the result of some amazing timing. Expand too slow and it collapses in on itself, too fast and we never coaless into stars, etc. Sometimes your timing is good, sometimes its bad. Today mine was lousy. Absolutely lousy.
My plane was due to leave Kyzyl around 4:45 pm. so I am no hurry to check out of my warm hotel room. I take my time with breakfast, packing, etc. I finally get around to a shower around 11:20 a.m. and exit around 11:30 when there is a knock on the door. Since I know the room phone doesn't work, I assume it is the hotel staff asking when I am leaving. I dress quickly and open the door to an unknown man and woman. They announce themselves as immigration officials and ask to see my passport. They look through it and some other paperwork I give them about 5 times each. Meanwhile I am packing thinking this is nothing to worry about and I am anxious to vacate the room on time.
The two officials talk among themselves and then make a call, which they put on speaker phone. It's an English speaking female voice that tells me I need to go with the immigration agents. I ask why, and she says they will need to check my papers at their office. I am not terribly concerned and go with the agents. They do not offer to help me with my luggage. Bastards. The English speaking woman in the admin office by the hotel's front desk has been replaced by someone who doesn't speak English. The English speaking woman had told me yesterday there might be some trouble about my papers but I had shrugged it off. After St. Pete. and Moscow why would Kyzyl worry about me? Why indeed.
We get into a black SUV, the woman now clearly in charge. We drive to a building that looks like an old motel converted to offices. Now my papers are examined by more agents over and over again. They bring up my visa application on the computer. I try to remember all the stuff I wrote back in Tel Aviv. I remember I didn't tell them about nuclear weapons, Northwestern University and some other stuff that seemed pointless at the time. Oh how those meaningless lies are about to catch up with me. And in Kyzyl no less!
After a while a woman who speaks English shows up. I don't know if she is the same one from the phone earlier. She is clearly not happy to be there. I wonder if she is unhappy doing the translating, and should I start to worry? Then the questions start to come, fast and furious. One questioner is the woman agent who brought me in. She is local. Another agent joins in, but she is from eastern Russia. Where from, profession, last work, and so it goes. They are checking against the visa application. I get that part. I seem to pass test number one.
The next set of questions get a bit scary:
Who have you talked to in Kyzyl? "The women who spoke English in hotel."
No one else? "No. I don't speak Russian."
How do you manage travel in Russia but not speak Russian? "People are friendly. It always works out."
Where have you been in Kyzyl? I list my walks as best I can. I try to show my pictures but no one cares.
"Where else have you been in Russia? How long?" I answer.
Why didn't you get the proper papers when you left those cities? Did not know. I offer the phone numbers of the hotels where I stayed. No one cares.
Then the biggie, THE ABSLOTELY ONE QUESTION I NEVER EXPECTED TO HEAR WHILE I WAS IN KYZYL, NOT IN A MILLION YEARS. NEVER, NEVER, NEVER. NEVER!!!
Why did you come to Kyzyl?
I have heard this question a million times. I have answered it a million times. And more than a few times to myself. I should have illustration cards to hold up when I answer. I should have tee shirts made with the question on the front and the answer on the back. I probably say the answer in my sleep. The answer should be engraved on my tombstone. I have said it so many times it is rote memory, probably encoded in my dna, to be deciphered by alien archeologists a million years from now. When they do decode my dna, those aliens will mourn the fact that my Kyzyl is not available for them to visit. Oh, how those alien hearts will ache a million years hence.
I want to scream as loud as I can. It's not that the repetition of THE Question has finally broken my self control. Rather, I want to tell her how the answer should be obvious to her. Its an interesting, beautiful, exotic place that was on the unfinished bucket list of a famous Nobel laureate with many other accomplishments to his name. And yet despite all his efforts he never made it to Kyzyl! I want her to get it so badly I could scream.
Beyond that, this is your home, probably the home of your ancestors going back as far as anyone can recall and before. The home of a proud people who ruled much of the known world at one time in history and terrorized the rest. This is where you live, be proud of it, own it, stand up for it. You shouldn't be asking why I came to Kyzyl, but WHY NOT!!
But I am not totally insane, so I answer here question as I always do. The questions keep coming.
How do you get money?
List the countries you have visited.
Do have any friends or family here?
How will you leave Kyzyl?
How did you get here?
Why did you take the bus here?
Why weren't on the plane you paid for?
Why didn't you stay in the hotel where you had a reservation?
It goes on. I don't think they will ever tire of asking questions, so I try another tactic. I start making my answers longer. And longer. No more yes or no answers. This means they have to wait a long time to get the full answer translated. This they don't like. I can tell the translator doesn't always give the full translation of my answers. One of my answers has specifics about money, which the translator clearly avoids. I can see they are losing interest in the process. I try to tell a few funny asides in my answers. No smile, nothing.
Eventually they dismiss the translator and she disappears. The agents start doing paperwork, computer stuff, phone calls, all the stuff people do in an office. I never hear my name mentioned, but I do see my visage pass by on a computer screen. Other than that I am invisible. I start to think if I got up and left no one would notice. But they have my passport and other important papers, so I sit like a stone. I start getting antsy after an hour. I had hoped to get a walk around town in before I took a cab to the airport.
I finally ask a few questions and the translator is on the phone again. She says she'll be right over. When she arrives we finally get to the entire weird center of all the enquiry. It all comes down to one thing:
Why did you come to Kyzyl in the winter?
Apparently that is so odd to the agents as to be unbelievable. Seems they never get winter tourists, especially Americans. Rarely Americans at all. And my missed plane, plus the unused hotel room. Add to the mix the fact that these Tuvans still have a strong attachment to socialism and the soviet system, and it just doesn't add up. There's probably the inner reasoning that people with money can't be crazy and some distorted view of Americans from years of propaganda and television. If I don't fit any other category, I must be a criminal.
All of that prior paragraph came to me in a flash. I don't fit any other pattern, so I must be up to no good. The list is short, but spy or smuggler come to mind. We aren't far from the border with Mongolia. NOW I GET IT! A light bulb goes off. I know exactly, precisely what to do.
I start to play the part of the eccentric American. I admit its not that much of a reach, but under these circumstances I have been staid and quiet, almost inert. I start laughing out loud, pointing to my jacket as proof of my weirdness and describing my other adventures. I try some more jokes with the same result.
I don't know if my act convinced, cajoled or just annoyed the agents, but within minutes of my turning up the comedy dial I am asked to sign a few papers and am shown the door. I ask for a ride to the airport, knowing the answer. Always the act and actor, right up to the end. I even leave my luggage in their hallway and go for my walk. A criminal would want to be gone ASAP, so I must be innocent, right? Props help prop up the act, that's why they are called props.
I even ask if I can take the agents' picture. I know the answer before I ask. Only a crazy man would ask. I am totally in character, and by that ruse I am a free man. Oh were that so. I am a fool thinking I have performed my way free of the Russian beaurocracy. I still have a few days left in Russia. The Soviet system has one more surprise up its sleeve.
But I don't think about the future. I walk around town for a few hours and grab a cab to the airport. I am a little sad at leaving, having met the goal of my quest. I have not gone bust, but have almost been busted (arrested). It should all be easy going from here.
God loves fools because they are so entertaining. I have one more show to do before I get home. Lucky me that I get to help a deity laugh.
My plane was due to leave Kyzyl around 4:45 pm. so I am no hurry to check out of my warm hotel room. I take my time with breakfast, packing, etc. I finally get around to a shower around 11:20 a.m. and exit around 11:30 when there is a knock on the door. Since I know the room phone doesn't work, I assume it is the hotel staff asking when I am leaving. I dress quickly and open the door to an unknown man and woman. They announce themselves as immigration officials and ask to see my passport. They look through it and some other paperwork I give them about 5 times each. Meanwhile I am packing thinking this is nothing to worry about and I am anxious to vacate the room on time.
The two officials talk among themselves and then make a call, which they put on speaker phone. It's an English speaking female voice that tells me I need to go with the immigration agents. I ask why, and she says they will need to check my papers at their office. I am not terribly concerned and go with the agents. They do not offer to help me with my luggage. Bastards. The English speaking woman in the admin office by the hotel's front desk has been replaced by someone who doesn't speak English. The English speaking woman had told me yesterday there might be some trouble about my papers but I had shrugged it off. After St. Pete. and Moscow why would Kyzyl worry about me? Why indeed.
We get into a black SUV, the woman now clearly in charge. We drive to a building that looks like an old motel converted to offices. Now my papers are examined by more agents over and over again. They bring up my visa application on the computer. I try to remember all the stuff I wrote back in Tel Aviv. I remember I didn't tell them about nuclear weapons, Northwestern University and some other stuff that seemed pointless at the time. Oh how those meaningless lies are about to catch up with me. And in Kyzyl no less!
After a while a woman who speaks English shows up. I don't know if she is the same one from the phone earlier. She is clearly not happy to be there. I wonder if she is unhappy doing the translating, and should I start to worry? Then the questions start to come, fast and furious. One questioner is the woman agent who brought me in. She is local. Another agent joins in, but she is from eastern Russia. Where from, profession, last work, and so it goes. They are checking against the visa application. I get that part. I seem to pass test number one.
The next set of questions get a bit scary:
Who have you talked to in Kyzyl? "The women who spoke English in hotel."
No one else? "No. I don't speak Russian."
How do you manage travel in Russia but not speak Russian? "People are friendly. It always works out."
Where have you been in Kyzyl? I list my walks as best I can. I try to show my pictures but no one cares.
"Where else have you been in Russia? How long?" I answer.
Why didn't you get the proper papers when you left those cities? Did not know. I offer the phone numbers of the hotels where I stayed. No one cares.
Then the biggie, THE ABSLOTELY ONE QUESTION I NEVER EXPECTED TO HEAR WHILE I WAS IN KYZYL, NOT IN A MILLION YEARS. NEVER, NEVER, NEVER. NEVER!!!
Why did you come to Kyzyl?
I have heard this question a million times. I have answered it a million times. And more than a few times to myself. I should have illustration cards to hold up when I answer. I should have tee shirts made with the question on the front and the answer on the back. I probably say the answer in my sleep. The answer should be engraved on my tombstone. I have said it so many times it is rote memory, probably encoded in my dna, to be deciphered by alien archeologists a million years from now. When they do decode my dna, those aliens will mourn the fact that my Kyzyl is not available for them to visit. Oh, how those alien hearts will ache a million years hence.
I want to scream as loud as I can. It's not that the repetition of THE Question has finally broken my self control. Rather, I want to tell her how the answer should be obvious to her. Its an interesting, beautiful, exotic place that was on the unfinished bucket list of a famous Nobel laureate with many other accomplishments to his name. And yet despite all his efforts he never made it to Kyzyl! I want her to get it so badly I could scream.
Beyond that, this is your home, probably the home of your ancestors going back as far as anyone can recall and before. The home of a proud people who ruled much of the known world at one time in history and terrorized the rest. This is where you live, be proud of it, own it, stand up for it. You shouldn't be asking why I came to Kyzyl, but WHY NOT!!
But I am not totally insane, so I answer here question as I always do. The questions keep coming.
How do you get money?
List the countries you have visited.
Do have any friends or family here?
How will you leave Kyzyl?
How did you get here?
Why did you take the bus here?
Why weren't on the plane you paid for?
Why didn't you stay in the hotel where you had a reservation?
It goes on. I don't think they will ever tire of asking questions, so I try another tactic. I start making my answers longer. And longer. No more yes or no answers. This means they have to wait a long time to get the full answer translated. This they don't like. I can tell the translator doesn't always give the full translation of my answers. One of my answers has specifics about money, which the translator clearly avoids. I can see they are losing interest in the process. I try to tell a few funny asides in my answers. No smile, nothing.
Eventually they dismiss the translator and she disappears. The agents start doing paperwork, computer stuff, phone calls, all the stuff people do in an office. I never hear my name mentioned, but I do see my visage pass by on a computer screen. Other than that I am invisible. I start to think if I got up and left no one would notice. But they have my passport and other important papers, so I sit like a stone. I start getting antsy after an hour. I had hoped to get a walk around town in before I took a cab to the airport.
I finally ask a few questions and the translator is on the phone again. She says she'll be right over. When she arrives we finally get to the entire weird center of all the enquiry. It all comes down to one thing:
Why did you come to Kyzyl in the winter?
Apparently that is so odd to the agents as to be unbelievable. Seems they never get winter tourists, especially Americans. Rarely Americans at all. And my missed plane, plus the unused hotel room. Add to the mix the fact that these Tuvans still have a strong attachment to socialism and the soviet system, and it just doesn't add up. There's probably the inner reasoning that people with money can't be crazy and some distorted view of Americans from years of propaganda and television. If I don't fit any other category, I must be a criminal.
All of that prior paragraph came to me in a flash. I don't fit any other pattern, so I must be up to no good. The list is short, but spy or smuggler come to mind. We aren't far from the border with Mongolia. NOW I GET IT! A light bulb goes off. I know exactly, precisely what to do.
I start to play the part of the eccentric American. I admit its not that much of a reach, but under these circumstances I have been staid and quiet, almost inert. I start laughing out loud, pointing to my jacket as proof of my weirdness and describing my other adventures. I try some more jokes with the same result.
I don't know if my act convinced, cajoled or just annoyed the agents, but within minutes of my turning up the comedy dial I am asked to sign a few papers and am shown the door. I ask for a ride to the airport, knowing the answer. Always the act and actor, right up to the end. I even leave my luggage in their hallway and go for my walk. A criminal would want to be gone ASAP, so I must be innocent, right? Props help prop up the act, that's why they are called props.
I even ask if I can take the agents' picture. I know the answer before I ask. Only a crazy man would ask. I am totally in character, and by that ruse I am a free man. Oh were that so. I am a fool thinking I have performed my way free of the Russian beaurocracy. I still have a few days left in Russia. The Soviet system has one more surprise up its sleeve.
But I don't think about the future. I walk around town for a few hours and grab a cab to the airport. I am a little sad at leaving, having met the goal of my quest. I have not gone bust, but have almost been busted (arrested). It should all be easy going from here.
God loves fools because they are so entertaining. I have one more show to do before I get home. Lucky me that I get to help a deity laugh.
Wednesday, March 16, 2016
Day 123, Kyzyl Dreaming
I get up in the morning to a dazzling bright winter day. It is cold but the air is still. Did I say cold? There must be another name for it here. The middle of March in Kyzyl and it's cold enough to freeze the fluids in your nose in about two breaths. Cold enough that the snow on the sidewalks crystalizes overnight, making it crunchy to walk on until it is compressed again. Cold enough that I learn to ignore the sound of spinning tires because it is the norm, not the exception, So cold that the mile wide river next to town looks like a collection of frozen ice jambs. I wonder if it ever thaws out here. Do they have permafrost?
I walk a few hundred yards from the hotel to gawk and take pictures of the monument marking the center of Asia. It is topped by a tiny reindeer. Nearby is a yurt and some prayer flags. There are also several monuments to communism or socialism or something like that. The park is neat, clean and well built. A radio station blares over a loudspeaker. There is a good display of ice carvings. I walk around town wondering where everyone is. Kyzyl is the capital of the state of Tuva, a city of 50,000 people, but I see very few. I walk around town and see different government buildings and statues. None of the buildings are over 4 or 5 stories. In one spot there is the familiar statue of Lenin, standing with an outstretched arm. Next to it is one of those digital billboards that changes its message constantly. Lenin would have choked on his statue being so close to such a symbol of capitalism.
People seem friendly enough to give me a glance but not a stare. I think my light outerwear is a subject of their curiosity. It seems like around half the people are local Mongolians (the country of Mongolia is not far away) and the other half are from eastern Russia. About once a day some Russian asks me a question, probably directions. They look puzzled when I say nyet Russisch. I found out later even that simple phrase was wrong, but they seemed to get the idea.
Kyzyl is exotic enough to be interesting but not dangerous. It's kind of hard to get to, but that can be said of a lot of places. A bit of that 'trouble' was my own doing. It's not the upper Amazon, Antarctica or the Highlands of Borneo. Kyzyl is just out of the way, slightly exotic, slightly foreboding and historically restricted to outsiders. It's just Kyzyl, and that's the way I like it.
PHOTOS TO BE INSERTED LATER
I walk a few hundred yards from the hotel to gawk and take pictures of the monument marking the center of Asia. It is topped by a tiny reindeer. Nearby is a yurt and some prayer flags. There are also several monuments to communism or socialism or something like that. The park is neat, clean and well built. A radio station blares over a loudspeaker. There is a good display of ice carvings. I walk around town wondering where everyone is. Kyzyl is the capital of the state of Tuva, a city of 50,000 people, but I see very few. I walk around town and see different government buildings and statues. None of the buildings are over 4 or 5 stories. In one spot there is the familiar statue of Lenin, standing with an outstretched arm. Next to it is one of those digital billboards that changes its message constantly. Lenin would have choked on his statue being so close to such a symbol of capitalism.
People seem friendly enough to give me a glance but not a stare. I think my light outerwear is a subject of their curiosity. It seems like around half the people are local Mongolians (the country of Mongolia is not far away) and the other half are from eastern Russia. About once a day some Russian asks me a question, probably directions. They look puzzled when I say nyet Russisch. I found out later even that simple phrase was wrong, but they seemed to get the idea.
Kyzyl is exotic enough to be interesting but not dangerous. It's kind of hard to get to, but that can be said of a lot of places. A bit of that 'trouble' was my own doing. It's not the upper Amazon, Antarctica or the Highlands of Borneo. Kyzyl is just out of the way, slightly exotic, slightly foreboding and historically restricted to outsiders. It's just Kyzyl, and that's the way I like it.
PHOTOS TO BE INSERTED LATER
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