Firsts at Last

I had the first tomato from our garden today. It was almost red. I touched it. It fell off. I ate it. It was delicious.

I held my first university lecture. "The power of the visual message". 28 people did not fall asleep. That was my goal. Matthieu said 'he was impressed'. I didn't expect that. Put a smile on my face.

I finished the first day of my "intensive design and layout workshop for small business owners, most of which have no clue". The room had space for four. We were six. At 4.30pm the electricity went off. I should have told them to save their projects more often.

I spent the first night alone in my gigantic Pamiri house. Worked. Made a big plate of 'Bratkartoffeln". Watched a movie. Woke up at 3am from some noise. Maybe the dogs. Maybe a mouse. Maybe the magpies stealing walnuts.

Today, is the first day of my last week in Tajikistan.

A Pass a day...

A pass a day keeps the headache away! At least that's a recommendable receipe when planning to climb a 5000m pass. With Iluka gone and well taken care of in France, we managed (quite well, I have to admit) to forget our role as parents for a while and took advantage of the situation by 'coughing our lungs out' as Matthieu likes to put it. 'A nice, serious trek with just the two of us' is how I would describe it.

After studying the map for a few days, Matthieu picked for us, what he assumed to be one of the harder treks in the region - the crossing of 5,080m Vrang Pass, which connects the Roshkala Valley with the Wakhan and crosses the Shokhdara Rande. Close proximity to peaks Engels and Karl Marx (6,507m + 6,723m respectively) promised for some panoramic views.

As one might get bored just trekking along a valley, crossing over a glaciated pass and then trek down the next valley, we included some diversions along the way. Two additional passes (4,600m, then 4,800m) made the approach to the Vrang Pass varied and exciting and proved to be excellent acclimatization opportunities.

Check out our exact route here. (I know, the picture is a bit confusing...If you really want to know: our route was the furthest one one the left...oh ok, fine! Next time I draw my own map again!)


In short, the trek was amazing, just what we needed and had wished for. Some pathfinding, some snowcrossing, full moon lit nights, a few bear tracks and otherwise...just us and the mountains. The rest is best told in pictures:

Home sweet Home

Who picked the music? Have a guess... It reflects the mood. Big house. Empty house. Pamiri house. Wonderful. Glu glu in the garden. Carrots and cucumbers as well. We love it and it's almost a shame that we are just taking it for one month...

Our Tajik time is slowly coming to an end. We've booked our flights to Nice (Aug 25th) and Munich (Sept. 1st). Iluka must be landing in Paris as we speak. He'll spend a fantastic summer with his grandparents in South of France, while his parents weep (and sleep ;-)).

Iluka (while walking towards the small plane taking him, Isabelle & Dominique from Khorog to Dushanbe): "Iluka geht mit Baba und Babi ins Fluuuuuugzeug! Mama Papa arbeiten. Bye Bye Mama Papa."

Evicted in Tajikistan

Was I complaining about an uneventful routine? The tides have changed, believe me! Right now I have so much to report that I have a backlog of at least five evening filling blog entries. Family trip to the east. Horse festival in Murghab. Roof of the World Festival in Khorog, Multimedia workshop at the University of Central Asia and... oh yeah, we got evicted! Und das kam so:

After 10 days of dust and mongolia type lunar landscapes (*insert blog entry #2 & 3) the entire Paley clan (Dominique, Isabelle, Matthieu, Iluka and myself) finally returned, dirty, yet happy, to their respective apartments in the heart of Khorog. Little did we know that unpacking and finally taking that much-needed shower was not on the agenda – our landlady had decided that we need to leave. Now. Immediately. No, not next week, no, not after tomorrow, no, not tomorrow morning. After 3 hours of pleading and discussions, her gracious deadline was 8pm that same day.

Sounds like there is something missing? Well, yeah, of course, it's a looong story... let me think how to put this in a few words: A] our landlady was a lying, evil person and B] cultural differences and maybe a tad bit of overreaction from our side did the rest. Despite us having one of the more luxurious apartments in town (eg. working toilet flush, no broken windows) we had dared to complain. The shower was spraying water everywhere, but on your bodyparts, the toilet door would not close, the kitchen chairs had broken into several pieces when we first had sat on them (Iluka, not Matthieu!) and door handles would regularly end up in our hands. "No problem", exclaimed the landlady when we moved in 3 months ago. "I will send someone tomorrow".

One month later...

The landlady comes to collect the rent. We take the occasion to point out that nothing had been fixed yet. Suddenly, we find ourselves in front of a fluttering, screaming wild animal. We gather from the bits of understandable sound bites that it must be terribly difficult, if not impossible to find a handyman in Khorog. "Fine.", we try to calm her down. "Just keep on trying. And maybe next time don't say you'll send someone tomorrow..."

One week later. 7am.

A knock at the door. Matthieu opens and a guy with a plastic bag full of tools storms into the flat. He identifies himself as the 'ustad', the master, and inspects toilet door and shower. He'll be back at 9am, he says and leaves his tools behind. We never saw him again.

Three weeks later...

The landlady comes to collect the rent. Since she never (except on the day she kicked us out) shows up on the agreed time, a few days pass where we miss each other or the rent money is with Tanja (who's at work), when evil bitch suddenly shows up and vice versa. When she starts accusing us of not wanting to pay, we dare to mention the repair works. By now we sense that it's difficult to have a normal, common sense discussion with her. Eventually we manage to get her her money.

Around July 15th (Tanja is alone at home and possibly in a bad mood?)

The landlady comes to collect the rent. Tanja is prepared: "Here is half the rent. You will get the other half when the stuff is repaired." A fight breaks out (details omitted due to their sensitive nature). The outcome: 3 homeless foreigners + child, looking for affordable place to live. Prefer not to share Russian apartment with family of 8. Will accept broken shower.

A Cherry Picked Routine

It seems that after two months a daily routine and uneventful everyday life infiltrates even the most exotic of places. Work, eat, sleep. Talk, think, play. The usual combinations. Mix as you like. For evening entertainment try throwing chickpeas out of the window...



But just as we were getting used to the 7-10, a long-planned visit snapped us out of it: Matthieu's parents arrived last week for a little mountain holiday. We found them an apartment to stay (close to ours, but not too close) and some important tasks to do (Shopping in the bazaar, teaching French to Iluka, cooking dinner...). As a reward Matthieu had planned a 12-day jeep-tour trip East, down the Wakhan and on towards Murghab. Off they all went on Sunday and I... I found myself alone. Alone with Tanja. Alone with my printing deadlines. Alone with sleeping in. Alone with time for Pilates and movie editing and making jam and meeting friends for a beer and watching Desperate Housewives - all in one day!

But now, the days have moved on. The brochure is with the printer and the DVD box set is finished. I miss my family and look forward to being on the road. Tomorrow I'll hop in a bus towards Murghab and hope to find my favorite group of 2 blondes and 2 grays somewhere in a guesthouse in the dusty East of the country. Can't wait. We shall be back with fresh stories and adventures on July 23rd.

In Reality

Just to clarify – we are NOT JUST on holidays here all day long, we DO do work. Or, like some more envious people like to put it: We just come here, have a good time and make lots of money.

Today then, a little insight into the reality of things. I'm currently working (my head off) on the preparations for the 2nd Annual Roof of the World Festival in Khorog. My job is to do all the graphics, advertising & promotion for the festival, which will take place on July 25th. Well, actually my job is to do the art-direction and training of a local designer, Rasso. This means that in addition to staging an express logo job to consolidate the opinions of all 15 festival-committee members and to laying out & editing a 12-page brochure in 3 days, I also speak a lot...and explain, share, show, delegate, correct, critique and most of all: try to get those Tajikis a feel for 'organization'! (Lots of nodding and uhms and ahs > but no results).

Admittingly, I feel just ever so slightly stressed (3 weeks to the festival) and all material has to be sent down to Dushanbe to get printed and make it back in time. I'm thinking landslides, power cuts, sick grandmothers, a cousin's wedding... so many possibilities to screw up my deadline. Oh well, feels a bit like work back home, just that the client is even more incapable here...

But I do enjoy it. I actually love it. Training people. Talking design all day long. The frustrations are part of the deal, they come with the job. Plus, the worse is almost over. I still hope that now that the groundwork is done I can actually hand over some of the remaining tasks to Rasso and go back to 'having a good time'. (Note: parents-in-law are on approach and due to arrive later this week)

There's more ahead down the line, including a multimedia workshop we are conducting, some lectures at the University of Central Asia and hopefully some work under the ominous title "cross-border initiative".

That Litte Nook

This one goes out to all parents. To those that travel with their kids, to those that would and to those that should. Also to those that wonder...

During our recent second outing into the Pamir mountains - this time to Bartang Valley I suddenly realized something quite essential when it comes to the question whether it's possible to 'travel with your child': The question is not whether the child can handle it - the question is whether the parents can handle it. And I don't mean handling the kid, no, I mean handling the traveling itself and, more importantly, the mode of travel.

I pondered over all this as I was squeezed between two (very caring and sweet) truck drivers - shift stick between my knees, holding sleeping Iluka with one arm, gripping the dashboard handle with the other - in the front of a big Russian 'Gaz', bobbing up and down some treacherous mountain road. Despite the discomfort I was truly enjoying the ride, knowing that I had one of the best seats in the house. Matthieu was standing in the blazing sun on the rusty, empty back of the truck together with some fellow hitch hikers, hopefully employing his best Pilates posture in order not to break his back over the next unexpected bump in the road.



We had started our trip in a public mashrudka from Khorog and at the end of the 6-hr ride our driver insisted we stay with him in his village Basid. We had a lovely time with him and his family and so did the fleas, who enjoyed an unexpected sumptious meal, feasting of me and Iluka (yet not of Matthieu, who suggested that I maybe just imagined the bites - hairy French bastard!).

The next day we opted for a little day-hike up the valley to a small hamlock situated in a lush green 'jungle', an unexpected oasis in a desert of rock and stone. The fact that the hike took 4 hrs instead of 1 as suggested by the villagers didn't surprise us much - but I do have to admit that I was happy that we had left out tent and gear down in Basid and Matthieu carried Iluka almost all the way in his little backpack.



And on we walked the next day - no plan, no goal, just down the road, deeper into Bartang Valley. Fetch some water from the spring... oh, I hear a car. Shall we? Let's...

Back to the cockpit of the old 'Gaz'. And here I am, thinking: We are doing exactly what we've always done when we travel. We have not changed. It just happens automatically. Only difference is that now we are three instead of two. The realization was so clear, so wonderful and so comforting...



So what am I trying to say? We can travel like this, in these places, live in these countries even with a child, because we want it and because we love it. And whether you like to spend your holidays on a cruise ship, lazing at the beach, rock climbing or ski touring - if you have a child/when you'll have a child, just continue doing it - the kid will fall right into its little nook in the middle.

Accidental Halva

A while ago, I received a recipe-exchange request by e-mail from my dear friend Sarah. I haven't been able to reply yet (please forgive, I will...), but this morning I accidentally invented a new Tajik breakfast fare that is too good to be missed:

ingredients:
flour (I only had buckwheat flour - let me know your results with any other type)
eggs
milkpowder (Iluka had just drunk all the real milk)
water (I was lucky that morning...)
vegetable oil
sugar

Sounds like pancake mix? That's exactly what I was trying to achieve

1. Mix together 1/2 cup flour, 1 egg, some milk powder and a random amount of water

2. Heat up some oil in a pan

3. Pour a generous scoop of mixture in the center of the frying pan

4. Realize the oil is not hot enough (damn electric stoves!) and the mixture too thick

5. Enhance pancake mix by spontaneously adding another egg, some oil and more water

6. Scrape the first (test) pancake from the bottom of the pan and discard into garbage bin

7. Brush off any suspicion that pancake failure might not be blamed on the texture of the mixture (oh, nice - say this 10 times real fast...), but on the utensils (cheap metal pan with concave center)

8. Add more oil in the pan (wait longer this time) and add another scoop of mixture

9. Let it simmer for a bit, then carefully check with a scapula around the edges and try to remember all your pancake or crêpe flipping tricks

10. Realize that the center is stuck and that with the high rim of the pan there's no way to ever flip this pancake

11. Ponder over the problem for a minute, then opt to try for scrambled pancake, having the famous Austrian 'Kaiserschmarrn' in mind.

12. Scramble and scrape away - don't let this sucker burn!

13. Maybe it's the buckwheat or the soggy mix... everything will turn into mud colored mush and stay that way

14. After another moment of reflection and determined not to let the pancake defeat you, add more oil and generous amounts of sugar

15. Disregard the appearance of your dish and proudly present to husband: "Look, I've made halva!"

Iluka: Yummm, encore?

Over the Sheep Dung Pass

After a week of having it rough, but wonderful, we've returned to civilization safe and sound. I'll leave the day-by-day description to my diary and personal memories and rather attempt to deliver the essence of the voyage in a series of interviews:

THE PLAYERS
Mr. Mir Alom, 72, driver par excellence
Let's call him the bear. He has his 30-year old jeep under control and always carries a handful of spare screws, dirty rags and assortment of wires to fix things literally 'on the fly'. We were glad to hear that he has given up on the vodka - his trusted glove-box companion while being a gasoline truck driver for 40 years...

Best memory of the trip: Coming home to Khorog

Worst memory of the trip: Having to name every single village on the 600km-long drive!

Typical conversation between Mir Alom and Mitushoh while driving:
Mitushoh: Chiz? (What?)
Mir Alom: ---
Mitushoh (louder): In chiz? (What's this?)
Mir Alom (grunts)
Mitushoh: In chiz ast? (What is this?)
Mir Alom (grunts, looks over): huh?
Mitushoh: Kishloq... (Village...)
Mir Alom (grunts, nods): hummmh
Mitushoh (louder, leaning over): In kishloq namo chiz? (What's the name of this village?)
Mir Alom (mumbles something)
Mitushoh: Chiz?
...

What made this trip special: Not a single flat tire!

Ilukshoh, 2.5, aspiring engineer
Easily distinguishable from other dirty snotty-nosed kids by his screams when lifted up and cuddled by an enthralled Tajik woman. Other audio clues: The sound of rocks splashing into water at any nearby irrigation channel, river, lake or puddle.

Best memory of the trip: A different woman in every village

Worst memory of the trip: The day we ran out of candies

What made this trip special: All going to bed at the same time and falling asleep between Mama and Papa in the tent.

Mitushoh, 36, über-excited tour guide
Likes to confuse locals by dressing like a tourist (sun hat, camera, hiking boots), then breaking out in Wakhi slang (local dialect) on approach.

Best memory of the trip: Helping the Tajik border guards look for Afghan infiltrators from their high-tech watch-tower.
Worst memory of the trip: "Every time I took off my shoes"

What made this trip special: Pork sausage and beer.

Marigul, 34, mitigating factor
The quiet shadow, the glue that makes the pieces stick, the calm in the storm...

Best memory of the trip: A moment all to myself in Langar. Time to let thoughts fly, to romaticise about the fresh mountain air and the wind rustling in the treetops, while hearing Iluka's and Matthieu's screams of joy in the distance. Somewhere far, far away...and of course: Taking a dip in Bibi Fatima's womb!

Worst memory of the trip: "Kaka" in Bulungkul or how Iluka chose the worst moment to shit his pants... No visuals can describe the desperation felt, when standing in the middle of a dusty village with no water in sight.

What made this trip special: a hike and a picnic at 4444m as a family.

Ready for take off

Our high end gear have been customized so now we are off... The mountains and the unexplored are beckoning and before our jobs start for good, we need to go out and see some of the Gorno-Badakhsani countryside. Food, tent and Iluka are packed. A rickety old jeep organized. We'll be out of reach for a week or more and hopefully back with lots of pictures and fresh stories of snowy passes and pristine mountain lakes.

For those less romantic, here's our approximate itinerary (google map or earth it...): Khorog to Alichur to Khargush to Langar via Wakhan back to Khorog.

Iluka: Voir la neige! Groooooosse grooosse Berge! Go in the car! Plus, Mama promised I won't have to wash my air for a week. Let's go

Khorog Family

The last few days have been busy with meetings, contract negotiations and the usual little things in life that make the days pass fast and leaves you wondering whatever happened to the hours. Washing clothes in the sink. Dishes. Cooking. Stocking up on bread and tomatoes in the bazaar. E-mails. Bring Iluka to the park. Lunch. Make a phonecall. Everything takes longer here. I call it the Pamir Time Warp.

But to keep you entertained in the meantime, here's a little group photo from last weekend for you to meet others stuck in the warp...

Be like us!

Display your love for animals....always be fashionable...

...and blend in with the locals...


For more tips and tricks on how to make your trip to Tajikistan a sure success, contact us by skype, phone or e-mail...

Weekend excursion to Garm Cheshma

As hot water, and water in general is sparse at home, we thought it would be nice to spend a night camping at the hotspring of Garm Cheshma, a 1.5 hr drive from Khorog. Adding to the international flair the Paley family was joined by Dutch couple Bastiaan and Eva (see previous entry).

In Dependence

So last night was French Fries + Vodka night at our friends Bastiaan and Eva's house. For some variety we also had spicy Chinese cabbage (from French guest chef M. Paley) and a selection of local beers (Baltika 3 and Baltika 7, indicating the alcohol %).

As the night became longer and Iluka was safely put to sleep in our host's guest bed, it became clear that there would be no transport home and we would need to walk the 30min to our house. There is no such thing as 'call-a-cab' in Khorog...

Looking at my peacefully sleeping son and my two swaying, grinning husbands, the decision was easy: Matthieu will stay behind and spend the night at Bastiaan and Eva's house and I would accompany Tanja back home, as she had to leave for Dushanbe at 4am.

All worked according to plan. Tanja and I staggered home, chatting like two overexcited chicken about relationships and rabies, and i fell into bed as soon as I got home, blissfully anticipating the morning, where I would sleep long and undisturbed by the usual platter of my child's naked feet and his demand for yoghurt and Marmeladenbrot.
And while poor Matthieu had to endure the hardest of all hangover penalties – 7am father duty – I got to dream of flat tires and angry neighbors (any freudian suggestions?) until 9am. I had planned a quiet morning taking a long overdue shower and wash my hair and then maybe some e-mailing over a cup of coffee...

At 9.30 I can stand up almost vertically...bad surprise: No water! No water means no coffee, means no shower, means more dirty hair. Oh well, remains the internet and maybe some work on the computer...bad surprise: No electricity. As I have no battery left on my laptop, I finally succumb, call up Matthieu and meet my family at the bazaar for breakfast.

What were people doing before running water and electricity? Maybe they drank less....

Home at last

We've made it to Khorog! Not by helicopter as hoped (it got cancelled again!), but by the more scenic option (or is it...?) via a crazy pot-holed, blasted-into-the mountains, 5 meters wide, non-secured sheer drop off into the Panj river, winding M-41, better known as 'The Pamir Highway'. We drove all day and night and 17 hrs later we had made it. At last!

Iluka: Indien ist das Land der Bagger und Tadjikistan ist das Land unserer Träume.

We've already settled into our apartment, which has running water except between 11am and 5pm, which is a great deal apparently, a room for us, a room for Iluka, a cozy kitchen and of course Tanja, our German housemate. Actually, we have invaded her house, but since we are sharing the rent ($400/month) all is good. Plus, she's the tourism coordinator at MSDSP, the Tajik branch of the Aga Khan Foundation (job opportunity hello!!). Actually, we get along great and Iluka starts his days asking: "Where is the Tanja?"

Oh, and one important minor detail: We have Wifi in the house, which is pretty much unheard of in Khorog. This doesn't mean we always manage to connect or even that the connection, once established, is stronger than your old 56K modem dial-up connection, but since you are reading this, here's proof it works at least once in a while.

Iluka: "I have already 2 friend here: Faharuddin is my neighbor and he can climb trees and pick unripe apricots, which taste sour but interesting. He comes by my home every day to pick me up to play downstairs with the other kids or we just hang out at home where mama gives us yoghurt and biscuits. My other friend is Alisho. He's 4 and helps me to get up onto the rocking horses on the playground.

Talking about playground: This place is an absolute paradise for children. 2 minutes walk from the house is a park, which has recently been landscaped by the Aga Khan Foundation. It's a poplar tree shaded, grassy paradise with an adventure playground, which can challenge most playgrounds in Europe for aestetics and style. There are wooden benches and rocks and boulders, narrow stone pathways, little hills to roll down from and flower beds.

Iluka: "There's even a beach and a pool where I can play and throw rocks all day long."

In the center of the park is a big 'pool', an artificial lake, which is 'sunken' into the landscape, walled in on three sides by a stonewall and with a sandy, pebbled 'beach' leading down to the water. The lake is being filled in summer with water from the river. Summer in Khorog has just started...

To sum things up: We are on 2100metres, surrounded by snowcapped mountains in a lush and fertile valley. People are laid back and friendly. There's butter, bread and beer! And if this place wasn't so damn difficult to get to, we'd stay here forever.

Some things Tajik

I feel like I owe everybody a huge multiple-day recap. Whatever happened to us? Did the KGB get us? Did we get lost in the Pamirs (unfortunately not yet).

Mostly it boils down to: To find a solid internet connection is pretty difficult in Dushanbe and not having internet at home (i.e. the appartment where we are staying) makes it even more difficult.

Otherwise I could have told you about my opportunity to take a kick-boxing lesson with the Tajik national champion, or the cop that knocked on our door in the dark whom we told to 'get lost' and he did. I could have also told you about several excellent meetings with the big bosses of Aga Khan Foundation that might get the ball rolling for some projects over here.

"But, Matthieu, my friend... what are you thinking? Of course we will put you on the helicopter."

So there we stood, yesterday bright and early, in front of our appartment waiting to be picked up for our heli ride to the mountains. When noone showed, we called the office: "Oh, actually you didn't make it on the list." Well, thanks for letting us know! In the end there were clouds and rain in Khorog and the flight got cancelled anyways. Now we are waiting for our next chance on Friday.

But I have to say to my surprise, Dushanbe is a very nice place to be 'stuck' at. It's very laid back and green with parks and fountains everywhere. People are real friendly and the food is delicious with fresh salads, soups and endless skewers of grilled meats.

Matthieu: It almost feels a bit like Munich in summer.

What he means is that there are plenty little outdoor cafes, mostly just some tables in the grass by the roadside, where you can enjoy a cold beer with your kebab and just watch the world pass by.

***

Yesterday we ventured into the countryside, just outside of Dushanbe. Rolling green hills give way to views on snowy peaks, and friendly villagers invite you for a cup of tea and a bowl of creamy homemade yoghurt... sounds like the description of a tourism brochure? Well, yes (it was meant to), but nevertheless it's the reality of being a tourist in Tajikistan. It's a beautiful place. And thanks to the Russians there are little playgrounds with rusty swings and derelict slides on almost every corner. I had no idea the capital of ex-soviet Tajikistan would be such a child-friendly place.

Tonight we'll go and see a British reggae band at the American embassy. Dushanbe is a happening place, believe me!

Dush like Dusche

Matthieu: "What's worse than McDonald's? McDonald's that just went through X-ray..."

As you can see our dinner at Sharjah airport was among the best the Middle East has to offer. I'll make a long trip short and recap our long trip to Dushanbe in images:


Today (note = 4 days ago), after having caught up with some sleep, we are already back to our 'normal' life 'on the road'. Stocked the fridge, went for a social outing to meet some of the local NGO expat community (an Italian, an Iranian, a French, an Austrian and an English girl with a puppy - much to Iluka's delight), set up meetings, got a local mobile number (+99 293 4100876) and of course: finally found a place with WiFi to upload all this.

Next step is to figure out how to get to Khorog in the Pamir Mountains, our home for the coming 2 months. Options: A flight, which due to the rainy bad weather doesn't look like it's gonna leave its bumpy runway any time soon. 16 hrs by car over treacherous terrain (exciting prospect with a 2-year old) or the old AFK (Aga Khan Foundation) helicopter (wishful thinking rather - why would they let us fly as non employees...)

PS: To better view the image on the left, right click or open in separate window

Die Grosse Reise begins

That's right - whatever happened to Tajikistan? Well, this time it's for real. We are packing up our stuff in Delhi, ready to haul ourselves and our 60kg of luggage (including camping gear, hiking boots, laptops, harddrives, baby bed...) into the big unknown.

Take off for Dubai at 4pm today. From there we'll have 5 hours (should be plenty, ummmm) to transfer to Sharjah, locate the mysterious Tajik Air office, hope that our tickets are actually booked and ready and hop on the plane to Dushanbe at 00:30am.

Pick-up and hotel in Dushanbe at this point still unconfirmed, but we are armed with phone numbers of a whole range of people (from the CEO of the Aga Khan Foundation to friends of friends of friends of people who we only know from skype and e-mails). We are hopeful.

Wish us luck, especially Iluka, who, after a bad tummy and a day of throwing up now has come down with a fever. Of course just in time for the big trip... all part of the process. (NB author does a great job in keeping calm and not letting this get to her. Maternal instinct says: nothing to worry about)

How to miss a plane in 10 minutes

For all those who've been waiting. Here's a chapter from 'Unforgettable Memories of India':

It all started well and as planned. Get up early, breakfast at 7.30am, check out, some minor problems with the credit card reader, no biggie...

The car that was supposed to bring us back to Bangalore (5-6hr drive) was loaded and ready to leave at 8am as planned. Plane at Bangalore airport scheduled for 4.30pm, so we had a good 7,5 hrs to get there on time.

1st incident (planned):
A stop at Belur Temple, about 45 min down the road. Unplanned was that we would bump into a wedding party, which was a welcome surprise, but in hindsight maybe responsible for us leaving a tad bit later than anticipated.
visual: Iluka runs after a red balloon and eats a dripping mango ice-cream.

2nd incident (unplanned)
The AC of our car wasn't working. This didn't really bother us much, but the driver seemed concerned enough to insist on organizing a replacement car. The aircon, it seemed wasn't the only problem. It was the mysterious blinking red light on the dashboard that worried the driver. "Sir, I'm not sure, sir."
visual: Paley family sits by the roadside on their suitcase waiting for new car

3rd incident (definitely unplanned, but probably our fault)
Just as we got going again, Iluka started to whine and complain about belly ache. My maternal alarm bells indicated refrozen mango ice-cream. And sure enough soon after we had the mess...
visual: Frantic search for diapers at the bottom of our bags as child had just sucessfully graduated from potty-training.

4th incident (planned, but shorter)
We knew we were slightly behind schedule, but French and Indian stomachs needed to be fed, so we stopped at the 'Shark Restaurant', a wannabe fancy roadside stall for a quick chai, some roti and dhal.
visual: Mother tried to coax screaming 2-year-old past greasy sari-clad lady into public squat toilet. Exists 3 seconds later with no success, dumps yet another mango-ice-cream diaper into makeshift cardboard bin. Happy flies.

5th incident (unplanned)
Despite diapers, Iluka insists on stopping for a pee (sorry to all non-parents for these seemingly unintereesting details). We oblige. Well done. Back in the car. Hattttatatattattat...hattatat. Engine dead. We start to feel pings of concern regarding our flight to Delhi. We don't really have time to spare anymore. The driver is on the phone and keeps on trying to start the car without success.
visual: Remote countryside. Birds chirping. Matthieu chats up a boy on a bicycle and considers continuing on a public bus.

incidents 6 - 8 (the 10-minute rule)
Eventually, through the help of mobile phones and a Toyota savvy friend of the driver, he gets the car going again.

Matthieu: "How much longer to the airport?"

Driver: "Oh, you are very lucky. It is very near. Just 10 minutes from here. I take a short-cut."
visual: Remote countryside. Birds chirping.

30 minutes later:
Matthieu: "So, where is the airport?"

Driver: "Oh, sir, we are very close. Next road on the right. Just 10 minutes."
visual: village in the countryside. Extended discussions in Kanada (local language) between driver and villagers. Several men participate, all pointing in different directions....

15 minutes later (3.40pm):
Driver: "Sir, now we enter main airport road."
visual: larger highway, thickening traffic, airport tower looming in the distance

10 minutes later (3.50):
We arrive at the airport, divide in 2 teams (Team A: load and luggage / Team B: child and camera) and sprint to the domestic departures hall.

incident 9 (the unforseen)
We get stopped by a security guard who checks our tickets and passports: "You must pay airport tax."
"Ok, sure, just tell us where, we are very late."
"Oh, you must go outside to the counter."
visual: Matthieu and Mareile push politely, yet determined through the crowd, squeeze in front of the line, sending sympathy inducing smiles, nodding applogetically, pointing at the child in their arms.

incidents 10 - 12 (the determining factors)
...and also those that never happened. Of the three railway crossings we passed on the way, none were closed! And we know sure well, that the stewardesses of Indian Airlines would not have let us on board would we have been another 10 minutes late!
visual: Matthieu and Mareile smile, sit back in their seats and look out into the clouds. Delhi, here we come!

Adieu Serai

For lack of time, here's the website of the place we will be leaving behind tomorrow. I wanted to show some pictures, video, etc. but too much to see, too much to eat, too much time to spend in our own private pool.

Hopefully I'll do a little recap on our excursions from Delhi.

So long, Namaskar and good night.

A Walk in the Park

Here's a little insight to our current 'backyard'. The Serai's very own coffee plantation.

Mango Maniac

Yesterday:

Iluka, what do you want for breakfast? Müsli or Marmeladenbrot?
Iluka: Nein, Mango!

Iluka, do you want Pasta or Rice for lunch?
Iluka: Nein, Mango!

Iluka, what do you want to eat for dinner? Chicken or Sausage?
Iluka: Mango!

Luckily, the hotel seems to have run out of Mango for the moment...

Iluka: Like mango juice!

Boozeless in Karnataka

Imagine Matthieu as an involuntary teetotaler. For the past 48hrs the whole town of Chikmagalur and surroundings (including the restaurant, room-service and mini bar of our hotel) is on an alcoholic dry spell. The reason: election time! Come to think of it this actually sounds like an absurdly wise decision - who would have thought. Or maybe it's just a tell-tale sign of how well the government knows its people?

Certainly not Matthieu, who, on his 2nd day without beer is starting to have rings under his eyes and uncontrollable sudden trembles. Just kidding. This might actually be the coffee... Another day to go and hopefully an ice cold Kingfisher will await us in our luxury suite. Prost!

Matthieu: Can you stop with your blog writing and come to bed? I want to watch my movie.

Iluka: Mama! Mama! Komm her!

DELHIrious

What's worse: Spending 3 (yes 3!) frustrating hours online trying to book a plane ticket or spending one hour in congested Delhi traffic to go and pick up said ticket in person from the airline office? No need to take position - I did both and now it's done. So, let's not talk about it anymore.

Here a few thoughts that floated through my head while watching the traffic float by my taxi window.

Thought: Finally understood the meaning of 'stifling heat' - or is 'oppressing' a better word? Dead air? Blow drier?

Matthieu: Bla, bla , bla...

True or false: If it wasn't for the trees and parks, there would be no oxygen in Delhi.

Thought: Should I have booked an air-con taxi instead?

Fact: Out of here tomorrow - we are heading to Bangalore and from there to Chikmagalur for some relaxing, splurging and Indian coffee tasting.

Matthieu: Yeah, well. You enjoy, while I work!

That's the plan my dear.

Iluka: Oh, airplane. Yes! Tshadshikistan!

Old habits die hard

Biding our Time

At 45ºC in the sun, the usual insane Delhi traffic mix of honking cars, rickshaws, cows and begging children it's kinda hard to come up with things to do with a 2-year old. But whatever we do end up doing, whether it's hanging out in the blazing heat for 30min in front of the Tajik embassy or going for a nightfall rickshaw excursion to the local sabzi mandi (vegetable market), Iluka's eyes take it all in with amazement.

Iluka: There are a lot of Bagger (= digger) in the street...I wish we could stop more often to have a look. Mama and Papa seem to obsess about holding hands (which is annoying when I want to carry my rubber ball, the little truck I stole from Diran's room and still keep my thumb in my mouth and my finger in my nose... oh, look at this little piece of shiny candy paper in a puddle...wait, there is ice cream... little Indian boy... I need water!)

As for Dubai... after a gazillion e-mails and phonecalls, still no luck in securing a plane ticket from Dubai to Dushanbe. The excitement continues!

Oh, and while reseaching yet another lead on Tajik Airline, I came across this eye-opening blog entry from a fellow adventurer. Sounds promising...

Made it to Delhi, but now...?

Admittingly, we've been here in Delhi now for a few days. One might think that this should have given us enough time to organize ourselves. Well, getting to Tajikistan is not that easy!
After one short attempt from our travel agent in Hong Kong (proposed route: Delhi - Moscow - St. Petersburg - Dushanbe - Urumchi - Guangzou - Hong Kong), we quickly decided to leave the route planning (Delhi - Dushanbe) to our very talented special travel agent Matthieu himself.

Matthieu: Did you mention that we only came to Delhi in the first place, because there was a Delhi-Dushanbe flight? That we found out it got cancelled 24 hours before we left Hong Kong...?

So, since we arrived at our dear friend Simone's place on the 16th, we've been pouring over Russian aviation websites of airlines unknown to even the most astute Indian travel agent. Exploring every possible option, we, at some point or the other, were ready to pretty much cover all the 'stans' (Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan) or to fly 4500km west to Istanbul to then get a connecting flight back to Tajikistan (some 1000km north of here!). In our desperation we even considered spending a night in Kabul and a flight with (by local Afghanis highly UNrecommended) Ariana Airline.

But yesterday the search finally produced a possible solution. For the moment everything seems right: price, flight and connection times, airline safety... Dubai here we come! Let's call it the Triple D solution.



Oh, and to put some timeline to all this - we'll be in Delhi until the 28th of April, then fly down South to Karnataka for a week. Return to Delhi on May 3rd and then the big trip (die Große Reise) will finally begin.

Iluka: Delhi is very hot, but there is no Kranz' (Strand = beach) here anywhere... Mama and Papa are getting a bit too obsessed with this whole thumbsucking business - apparently it's 'DIRTY' here. There is a park with lots of squirrels and butterflies and a rusty old swing. My new friend Diran has so many toys that I guess it's ok to stay in the house. In the evenings we go and get ice cream. Yum!