Cycle complete!
Chinese beaureaucracy can be a little maddening at times, as occured to me yet again last week when I crossed from Pakistan into north western China. The immigration office is 140km inland from the physical border, and a frustrating customs checkpoint here indicated I would not be allowed cycle but would have to take an expensive, fixed price minibus down to Tashkurgan where the actual immigration post was situated. Resigned to my fate we tied Melissa atop the bus and arrived down 2 hours later. Here the process was equally frustrating as every single item had to be accounted for from my panniers which meant all 5 bags were x-rayed, unpacked, questioned and eventually after all that repacked again for the bike. Well that's not to say they found nothing, they did take aside my 10cm long ornamental sikh knife along with a box of windproof matches, which look significantly different from the norm. Then 5 chinese officials all gathered around to watch as I set off one of the matches to prove they were not going to cause any disturbance. The reaction was typically Chinese, the match was lit and as it let off its fizzing sound I could see their eyes light up and exclamations of 'wauw' filled the hall, breaking the somewhat serious atmosphere. They were impressed by how they worked, so much so they let me keep them along with the knife which I was told 'would only be allowed in this time.' The scene around the xray machine was a rather comical one at one point when I had to explain that Melissa would not fit through it, much to their annoyance. Such was their policy of seeing every item through the machine that one Chinese man heaved a smooth and solid 20kg rock up onto the conveyor belt. As it came clattering down the other side onto a marble floor some of us present had to laugh, with how outrageous it had looked. Except for the officials of course who kept a straight face throughout.
Its interesting to experience this diverse part of China where Uighurs, Tajiks, Uzbeks and Han chinese live amongst each other. Each bring their own unique foods, traditions and language so when you meet someone one is never sure exactly which greeting to give! I headed for a chinese restaurant as I was starved since breakfast, it being 4pm at this stage. I'd forgotten how hard it could be to communicate with the Chinese given their complete lack of understanding in English. This came to the fore when I struggled over a Chinese menu and ordered the first thing chinesey that popped into my head, that being Chowmein. Then my request to know where the toilet was, was met with blank stares and it wasn't until I mimed the appropriate embarrassing action that she beckoned me to follow her to a backroom where a wonderfully adequate squat toilet lay, complete with the traditional beetles and a total lack of toilet paper! (fortunately I keep some handy at all times.) Keen to get out and pedal before dark I set out into the barren landscape once more. I travelled into a grey canyon with a dried up riverbed and an hour later I entered out onto the magnificent central asian steppe. It was exactly as you would expect it to be. Cold, windy, grassy amid a horizon which seemed to go on forever. With the dark clouds overhead attempting to smother an orange sunset it reminded of Mordor in The Lord of the Rings. I was soon waved down by a local and seeing the obvious benefits of befriending a local in this sparse terrain and at sunset I immediately came to a halt. It wasn't long before I was seated in a large room full of colourful carpets, in which the central focus was a large glowing stove burning cow dung for fuel. The family I learnt were Tajiks and thus not being prepared to have to speak tajiki in China I was rather embarrassed at not being able to even say hello properly! I was soon introduced to his family over a plate of naan bread and bowls of yak butter tea. The latter they constantly topped up my bowl and so in reality I reckon I must have had 10 regular cups of salty tea before hitting the sack. But before all that I managed to get involved in a discussion which could have been easily avoidable. Throughout Pakistan I had worn the traditional Shalwar Kameez, which is a robed garment that helped me fit in enormously as a Pathan while there. Since I had just come from Pakistan that day I hadn't gotten out of it upon crossing the border. It was a decision I was about to regret. In this part of China I hadnt expected everyone to wear fairly normal western clothing including the ethnic Tajiks who also wore their traditional hats. Well it was me who on this occasion was completely overdressed in my white shalwar, and I'm sure they must have been surprised to see a foreigner dress so strangely! For the family of grandfather, husband, wife and 5 kids I dont think they thought to much about it until a cousin arrived in the door. An exception to the rest of the family he had some English and so we were able to communicate a little better than I had been able before. The downside to this soon became obvious when he began looking extremely closely at every single detail in my passport, it was then that I learnt that he was a customs official. And a very suspicious one too. He then made the incredible accusation of me being Taliban, his reasoning being that I had just come from Pakistan, had a big beard, and was wearing the shalwar kameez. Sure dont only taliban have those features he asked? He wasn't kidding either. Each time I answered him, he would say nothing and stare deep into my face for several seconds, seconds that seemed like minutes to me! I replied honestly saying I had forgotten to change my outfit, i liked my beard and that clearly I wasn't a taliban,otherwise why would I have been cycling through all those other countries stamped into my passport? While leafing through the passport he would speak to the family clearly it was about me and I heard the word 'talban' used several times also. It appeared he was trying to convince them of 'who I really was' in his eyes. Thankfully after half an hour of this tirade my nerves were given a rest as he acknowledged with a handshake that I must be okay, and that I posed no threat to anyone. Breathing a sigh of relief I swore to myself I would never wear the silly shalwar in places where people may be sensitive to people wearing it. It was 10pm at this stage and so we all excused ourselves to make ready for bed. I was given the most enormous bed ive ever seen. It being big enough to fit 12 people, covered in carpets and as I soon learnt it was all for me. The bed took up half of an already huge room and I was getting it all to myself. Not sure whats the largest bed one can get in a 5 star hotel but I'm 100% sure it bate it by at least twice its size. It must have been a traditional Tajik tradition where the whole family would curl up together on the one bed. I immediately asked where they would sleep and i was soon shown to an almost identical bed in another room. Satisfied that I wasn't putting anyone on the floor, i brushed my teeth and picked a nice spot on the carpet bed to lay my weary head. After all it had been a fairly eventful day.
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"You Pathan?" the voice comes from the driver of the overloaded motorbike. "Me Hoon Pathan!" I reply jokingly in basic urdu. The smile on my face quickly reveals to their puzzled faces that I'm only messing and to follow up I say im Irish rather than Pathan. Its not the first time I've been called Pathan either. I think the confusion comes when I wear the traditional Shalwar Kameez. That along with my black hair, beard and blue eyes almost qualifies me as a Pathan although I guess the lack of Pashto lets me down. Pathans make up a large minority of pakistanis; with most living near the western border of afghanistan, while a large portion of Afghanis are ethnically Pathan. Pathans generally have lighter skin and many have blue/grey eyes. This some say is a result of intermarriage with Alexander the Great's marauding Greeks.
In good english the driver asks if I would like to pull in for food and a chat, which I can hardly refuse. And so 5 minutes later the 4 of us are all sitting around a table drinking juice and they even insisted on buying me a quiche-ey type thing, which tasted pretty good. The driver I learnt had just returned from his studies in Oxford and that was probably why his english outshoned the others. We talked about england, food and everyone's favourite topic here... Cricket! And so after a decent bit of chat it was time for Mr Pathan to hit the road again! |
The AuthorName: Daniel Ross Top Tips:
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October 2016
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