fillingthegaps

the last post was from Vancouver. This post comes from a little seaside town in France, and in between there has been about a week of some fairly hectic activity. Let me re-cap, for those who might be vaguely interested.

I arrived back from Canada at Heath Row, England, at about 2.30 in the afternoon. There I grabbed a courtesy shuttle bus which took me to the car rental company on the other side of the airport. (very efficient) At the depot  I picked up my pre-booked car: I had ordered a Ford Fiesta (the cheapest deal I could find) but as with the previous car rental, found myself up-graded into a new Peugeot 207. Who was I to complain? My plan was to visit a few friends and relations before re-joining The Tribe in the two Camper vans, (who were ‘somewhere up North’)

So the first move was to get up to a cousin’s place just north of Derby. I got away from Heath Row by about 3.30pm, which was a bit late in the day to be starting a 250km drive. However this was the plan,  so off I set. The car drove beautifully but the navigator was definitely average, finding himself in a tangle of roundabouts, road signs and general traffic mayhem, trying to get through Leicester. After a hour or so I popped our the other side and regained some momentum, arriving at my pre-booked hostelry at about 8.0pm.

I finally found my cousin’s house at about 9.0 pm and had a most pleasant re-union, but by near-midnight my recent spate of activity started catching up, and I returned for a sound sleep at the pub.

After a good English breakfast, I took off for London again, and had a great run until I reached the  outskirts of that seat of civilization.

I should pause here to try and describe the British motoring scene, in any city in this fair land. Britain is criss-crossed with an infinite number of small roads, connecting all villages and towns. These roads were developed during the hey-days of the horse and carriage, and were a comfortable width for one such vehicle. As time progressed and towns grew into cities, some of these roads developed into highways. Now and again the roads were widened a fraction to make things easier, but by band large they remained almost untouched for nearly a 100 years. When England started to get organized they gave the main highways numbers, and so the ‘A” road numbers arrived.

A long time after the second world war, it was realised that the ‘A’ roads were not coping with the traffic, and so the ‘M” motorway roads were built. These highways took the straightest line between two cities, only occasionally allowing other roads to connect into the system. It is in the connecting of these roads that British roading engineers managed to devise a system of round-abouts that confuse the sharpest of minds, and the most skillful of divers. These ‘roundabouts’ are not round but usually oval in layout. They frequently have 6 or7 junctions spread around the circuit, often having traffic lights. There can be up to 4 lanes of traffic hurtling around the circuit. The trick is to know which lane you are supposed to be in to be able to escape into your desired exit. Your required lane is painted on the road in large letters. The problem is that the letters are obscured (usually) by even larger trucks. Of course there are the signs to help you too. These list the route numbers of the various exits, plus the route numbers of roads they will eventually lead to, plus the names of the next few towns (but not the main city you are looking for) etc etc. A total confusion to the driver with no local knowledge. The result is that invariably you take the wrong exit, leaving you no option but to drive 10-15 km down the road until you can find a turn off, whereupon you can return the the roulette wheel and try your chances again. Add to this mix the fact that every car that was ever made seems to be either driving on the roads or, in any town at all, parked nose-to-tail on the roadside. The final little bit of fiendish thinking is to make all rotes in a town a ‘red  route’. This means no stopping at any time except for busses. So if you are lost, you cannot find anywhere to pull over and get your bearings.

Do you get the impression that driving in the cities and on the main roads is a frustrating and harrowing business? I hope so – because I was a fairly frazzled specimen by the time I finished my rounds and finally ended up in a peaceful haven at my cousin’s place in the south of England. What bliss!

The next day my racing around was over and I made my way at a leisurely pace to a midday rendezvous with the vans in Reading.

The vans had already covered a fair distance that day, but a booking had been made to catch the Dover ferry in a couple of days time – so on they pressed. I sank gratefully back into the passenger’s seat and relaxed and enjoyed. That day we got to Folkstone – just a stone’s throw from Dover, but the intrepid duo really had been driving long enough for one day.

We found a Sainsbury’s, huge super markets with equally huge parking lots. Previous experience had shown that when asked, the Authorities would permit us to park overnight. Which we did (with grateful thanks to the Management)

The next day we were up bright and early, with the rain pouring down. After a quick breakfast we were off to Dover – intending to spend most of the day at the Castle. Our initial momentum quickly came to a grinding halt as we joined the traffic on the motorway to Dover.

 We did not know it immediately but we learned that a computer breakdown at bthe ferry terminal was causing huge hold ups as all traffic was manually processed onto the ferries. Memories of our 7hr holdup outside Antwerp came flooding back, but fortunately we inched our way forward to a turn-off, and were able to escape onto a minor road to Dover. We were in no hurry for the ferry –our booking was for 9.30pm but we did want to see the castle.

And see it we did.

It stopped raining, but the gale winds continued to tear at us. The castle is situated on the highest hill in Dover, and even a zephyr breeze would be able to nip at you unhindered on top of that hill.

We had a really interesting time (did I tell you we are still not sick of castles – even if you are sick of hearing about them!?) crawling up, over and under the battlements, and then descended to Castle Street to enjoy a ritualistic Last Dinner on British soil –  Fish’n’Chips!

Being aware of the chaos throughout the day we got down to the wharf fairly early and got ourselves at the front of a queue, waiting for the 9.30 boat.

As good fortune would have it, there was space on an earlier sailing and so we found ourselves steaming out into the Channel at 9.00pm.

We were anticipating a rough ride, due to the gale that was still blowing, but in fact the 1 1/2 hr trip was very smooth, and we were berthed and discharged with amazing speed and efficiency.

A quick drive around the darkened streets and we finally found a park, which was full! a few hundred meters away was an ordinary car park and a  hesitant enquiry to a local gave us the assurance that it was ok to park there. So here we are in France!

-well we have yet to take a look at St.Paul’s in London, but if my dimming memory serves me right, that is but a shadow compared to this simply magnificent building. Actually ‘building’ is a completely in-appropriate term for such a breath-taking, awe-inspiring example of man’s desire to honour God through architecture.

We arrived in Koln on a wet evening (yes it was raining again) but the ‘Vomo’ park still looked just great. Here we are yet again perched on the banks of the mighty Rhine river, at the edge of a beautiful tree-lined park, bounded by a  superb walk-way come cycle path that follows the river right into the heart of the city. It  was probably a 2-3km walk but one which all the kids tackled quite happily.

This twin-spire-ed cathedral is simply enormous, but beautifully proportioned.

The scope and intricacy of the stone-work defies the imagination; how could anyone sit down and plan such an enormous undertaking with its flying buttresses adorned with lace-like carvings,

the hundreds of statues and statuettes that surround the entrance archways,

the sheer size of the building and the mechanics of erecting the vaulted rooflines – it is almost too much to take in.

I was fortunate and managed to slip inside just before they closed the doors, to prepare for a service. So I managed to record a little of the magnificence of the inside.

The stained glass windows were many and varied, here’s just a sample:

Once outside again, the tribe decided to make the climb up to the belfry in one of the towers. Having done this sort of thing in years gone by, and recalling the vertigo-inducing effect of climbing a  seemingly endless spiral staircase, I elected to take a walk around the area instead. It was entertaining as well as being very pleasant. The square in front of the cathedral was buzzing with people of all sorts, busking musicians,

tourists, church-goers,

‘statue, figures,

 a pavement artist,

 young and old and all nationalities. Then there was the surrounding ‘old city’. Cologne was flattened by the RAF during WWII (fortunately leaving the cathedral relatively unscathed) so the ‘old city was re-built with modern buildings, but retaining the old narrow cobbled streets. So the whole area is ‘pedestrians only’ and it makes for an interesting shopping and eating district. The tribe by he way, had a great time climbing the 100’s of steps up the tower – you will have to go to ***** to read about that.

I found a Starbucks and made a note for future reference: in NZ Starbucks offer free wi-fi service to their customers and I was hoping for the same here. Later in the day R and I returned (by bike) to check it out. We should have guessed – E8 per hour! Fortunately a young woman overheard the conversation and gave Rach directions to a cafe that offered free wi-fi. It took quite a while and several more inquiries but finally we found the spot, some distance further on, but no trouble on our trusty steeds. But things seldom seem to go without a hitch with us, and so R & I found ourselves returning on the following morning to complete the mission. (I was not complaining – it gave me an excuse to treat myself to a coffee and muffin)

The mission was completed successfully but on the return disaster struck. We had to pass under a tunnel-like bridge which at the time they were washing with pressure hoses. So the place was awash with water and hoses snaking over the  footpath. Rach struck the hose at an angle that would have been ok in the dry, but with everything wet, her front wheel just went sliding away, leaving Rach sailing through the air without a bike. It was painful to watch. I had seen her thrown off a wild horse, now here she was being thrown off a wild bike. She sailed through the air in a crouched position, ready for a painful landing. But before she hit the pavement, her head hit the side-wall of the tunnel (covered in black wet goo) Then she hit the pavement with a most unpleasant thud. Damage report: one bruised side of face (smeared in black gunk), two  chaffed knees with protective jeans ripped, two sore hands and one thumb nail painfully torn. It was not good. However after a bit of a cleanup and application of plasters, the lass got back on the bike and persuaded the rapidly-stiffening knee to keep turning until we got back to base.

On the positive side, there was no damage to lap-top in the back-pack, or to the bag of ‘Berliner’ jam donuts that were in the basket on the front of the bike.

We walked part of The Great Wall in China; we walked right around the Wall surrounding the city of Xi’an and now we have experienced the European counterpart – the walled city of Rothenberg.

Rach had found us a very pleasant Van Park in Rothenberg, and we discovered to our pleasant surprise that it was only 5 minutes walk away from the walled city.

The weather was too threatening for us to start repairs to the van, so we took a walk into the Old Town before starting off on our next leg.

What a formidable sight, is this Walled City. Had I been an invader, I think I would have taken one look at the moat, the massive walls, the solid port-cullissed (?)gateway, the hundreds of arrow slits in the walls, and I would have said”let’s go home lads – this nut will be too tough to crack”

The defences were massive and the architecture impressive. Goodness knows how long these sorts of castles took to build, but one would have thought that the person who designed and commissioned the structure would have been long dead before it was completed. They must have had a real sense of continuity, and a confidence that their ancestors would still be in control to continue the Project.

Inside the wall, (entered through massive gateways)

 a thriving township  was built (and no doubt re-built over the ages.) Today a most picturesque town exists,

 climbing gracefully up the side of a gentle hill. Old buildings they may be, but they all house people and businesses.

Several of the buildings are home to bakeries and all produce a variations on the town’s specialty: a thing called a Schneeball (‘Snowball’ ) These are a cricket-ball-sized ball of twisted pastry strips, deep-fried and then enhanced with a variety of dips, drizzles and flavourings. They  were not cheap, but we had to try such an interesting piece of German culture!

The  Square was towards the high end of the  town, a feature of most European towns that I really like. This one was on a slope being placed on the side of the hill.

As usual, cafes spilled over onto the sidewalks in a profusion of tables and chairs, lending a casual, relaxed air to the township. Very pleasant!

We have been in Berlin now for nearly 2 weeks. Enough time you would say, to see all the significant spots at a comfortable pace. Unfortunately it has not been the case due to the ongoing saga of purchasing 2 motor homes (plus getting a replacement Bank card as a side-issue) We have dealt with (and finally overcome) Germany’s bureaucracy to become officially Registered, thus enabling subsequent steps of Insuring the vehicles, then getting vehicle registration (after confirming with certificates that they have the necessary TUF (warrant of fitness) and then Number-plates for the two vehicles. In NZ this would be an afternoon’s work at the Post Office. Here it has taken over a week with a lot of blood, sweat and tears (well, almost). We had great help from some of the guys at the couch-surfing place where we were staying. The lady we were purchasing one vehicle from met us at the German AA office, but their combined efforts ended with them saying that it looked impossible to do! The AA tried to be helpful but just did not have the experience that we needed to solve the issues.

So here we are, proud possessors of one vehicle

and with the other one due to be ready at the end of the week, the delay being due to work necessary (at the Dealer’s expense) to get the ‘TUF’ certificate.

However we have squeezed in a fair bit of sight-seeing in between all the tripping to and fro’ and we have become seasoned users of the Berlin U-bahn,(metro) S-bahn (rail) systems, trams and Shanks’s ponies. We have walked the streets, played and pic-nicked in their parks,

and more recently driven a motor-home through the heart of the city and successfully navigated to an obscure camping supplies shop to buy a ‘Porter-potty’ for the other van. (for this last feat all credit goes to Rob for his driving skills and his trusty GPS)

I managed a walk down to The Brandenburg Gate

and the Parliament buildings

just yesterday, and in addition to the historic places there were a lot of interesting other sights, such as the full size puppet manhandled by about 6 people.

Plus an interesting assortment of pedal=powered machines.

……and today we got to see Checkpoint Charlie and Potsdamer Platz – both of which I have to say, were pretty much non-events. Important in the history of Berlin no doubt, but visually very ordinary. Far more impressive was Berlin’s central railway station – a marvelous suspended glass structure.

We ran out of booking space at the first couch-surfing place, so we had to move last night to a new couch-surfing host. Here some of us are very comfortable. I say some of us because they have managed to find space for 3 of us, the rest having to sleep in the van. Of course the van is comfortable enough but is not in a Camping ground – it is parked in front of a row of shops about 1/2 km from the apartment. We are not sure how legal this is, but we are keeping a low profile!

The whole tribe comes over to the apartment to eat breakfast and dinner at night and to get washed up etc. It is not the most convenient, but it is a real God-send until we get the second  van and head off into the wide blue yonder to be completely independent. Then things will really be looking up!

And to add to the satisfaction of the day, I have just learned that my new Bank card has arrived at the first address we had in Berlin, so tomorrow I will be off to pick that up, and start to get solvent once more!

We are being hosted by 3 young ladies: a Social Science student, a nurse and a Receptionist. They have (by European standards) a really large apartment with probably 5 large rooms, a small kitchen and 2 toilets (one of which has a shower/bath) The 3 of us are in one bedroom, all to ourselves, which is something of a luxury and we are very comfortable.

On the down side, many of us are plagued by a wretched cough and some have heavy colds, so we are not at our sparkling best – but the sun is shining, the days are getting longer and warmer – summer is coming and we will soon be bouncing again.

We are really looking forward to this next stage in our wanderings.  Internet connections may not be so readily available but I’m sure we will stay in touch.

Where is Estonia? you might well ask. Just as NZ is frequently confused with Australia, so Estonia is coupled with Sweden, Finland and ‘all those funny little Baltic countries’

Well we have ended up in this country for a few days – and we are really enjoying it. Population is just 1.3 million and even though the country is tiny, it has one of the lowest population densities in the world. We are staying at a ‘Drop-in centre’ in the capital, Tallinn.

This town is clean, neat and tidy and has excellent bus and trolley-bus services. It also has a fascinating Old Town center which dates back to the 14th century. It’s fascinating to see buildings this old, not preserved in a museum setting, but in daily, normal use as shops and commercial premises.

The Old Town has a real charm and character, and despite a temperature which has been hovering around the 5C with a strong cold wind, we have spent a bunch of time exploring its narrow streets and interesting architecture

Today a few of us went back to check out a glass-blowing  studio and we were treated to a display of an artist creating a beautiful goblet. The process was not a quick show for the tourists but we saw a serious artist at work, creating a thing of beauty, It was well worth the 4km walk in the bitter wind!

The place we are staying is really another story of its own. This is a ‘Community Centre” fully approved by the town council and recipient of all sorts of grants from various EU bodies. It is run by a group of young Estonian Idealists (“Greenies’ to the core) and they say they have the active support of the neighbourhood.

All sorts of people drop in here (including 11 Kiwis) and they are an interesting assortment. There are Australians and a variety of Estonians and other Europeans. The other day we met a Rip-van-Winkle character with a beard that put Jamie Nicholls’ to shame. He claimed (to the children) to be Santa’s Helper but in conversation with him, it became evident that he moved in fairly exalted political circles and was passionately involved in promoting Conservation and National Cleanup days, to beautify the land. It seems he is in demand as a speaker in various countries. He looked like a Swagman, with his bundle of belongings over his shoulder, but he was a man of impressive intellect. However we were not too swayed by his philosophies which included being everywhere while he was asleep and being able to commune with others just by our thoughts!)

This place is bizarre! In the back yard is an Indian Tepee; in the cellar a group are running a bicycle repair business; inside, the walls are peeling and un-papered, but hanging on them are some excellent photographic prints (an exhibition is in progress we are told) When we cooked dinner the other evening (as is the norm in a Couch-surfing place) people came out of the woodwork from all directions and I counted at least 22 bodies loading up their plates!

The building is wood and must be over 100 years old.  It has a cellar, two floors and a huge attic which we are occupying. They threw down sheets of particle board on the day we arrived, and then came up with a pile of mattresses which has meant that we are all very comfortable. You can see daylight through the roof and the end gables, but surprisingly it is not that cold.

It has a toilet, a shower and a washing machine, so we are certainly not complaining! Within the next week or so we hope to be living in a couple of motor homes, which should start a new era in our wanderings.

Watch this space.

When reading the Bible, one thing that has always fascinated me is it’s sheer relevance to me and my life and times. Consider: the New Testament was written by a collection of authors, roughly 2000 years ago. They were Jews, Israelites, Arabs almost. They came from an agrarian culture of farmers and fishers. They could not have been less connected with today’s Western consumer-driven society. If you walked through the streets of a middle-eastern village today, you would still not expect to find too much in common with our world and our values. And yet the words of the NT writers and especially those of Jesus cut right through to the core of the issues of life – and they are as relevant today as they were then.

And why this somewhat philosophical opening? Well, given that there is evidently so much that is common to the human condition, how is it that cultures can end up being so very different?

The prompt for these musings comes from the differences observed in cultures as we have moved from China, into Mongolia and now into Russia. In SE Asia with its teeming millions of people, one gets accustomed to the pushing shoving and scrambling to get on buses and trains. But all is done with relative good humour, and friendly smiles abound, and other courtesies like respect for the Elderly, still prevail. The Chinese are a noisy lot of hard-working entrepreneurs – all are out to make a dollar wherever the opportunity can be found. Prices are bargained for vigorously but generally with some good humour. Generally, SE Asia is a very pleasant place to be.

So it was something of a shock to the system to get to the Mongolian capital and find ourselves surrounded by a grim-looking bunch of people who seemed to regard foreigners not only with disinterest but almost contempt. We perhaps should have had an inkling of things to come when we went through the visa application procedure. The general impression we got then was that we really were not welcome: as it stated on the Russian application form  – ‘even if you are granted this visa it is no guarantee that you will be permitted entry into Russia – you could still be prohibited entry at the border control.’ And as we went through The border checks, this attitude was confirmed, with unsmiling and humourless officials going about their business.

But it was the people on the street and on the train that gave us the  biggest jolt. One could hardly be critical of officials plodding through their duties at 2.0am  in the morning, but what could be behind  the churlish behaviour of your typical Igor, on the street?

Our first encounter with the the Mongolians was with our first Ger host – the Computer-expert/librarian in Ulaan Bataar. He was warm, friendly, humourous and thoughtful. His wife was likewise, and his children were intelligent  and well-behaved. But what a shock when we were taken to the local market in Ulaanbaatar.  I should explain that the market comprised a large open area filled with ‘stalls’ selling everything from plastic ware to builders supplies, used industrial equipment, clothing, leather jackets, boots, electric motors, rolls of linoleum and anything else you could think of. All stalls were minded by individuals who looked completely disinterested in the selling process! Alongside the open area was a large scruffy, 2-story warehouse- type building which was the Mongolian equivalent of a supermarket. This housed many tiny kiosk-type shops – some only just big enough to accommodate the proprietor and the meager stock in the kiosk. The kiosks specialised to a degree and the fresh goods such as fruit and veggies and meat were well apart from the dry goods areas. There was a god selection of produce. So far so good. Goods were available and reasonably priced.

The surprises came from two quarters : first the attitude of the store owners and secondly the behaviour of other customers like ourselves.

Imagine standing at the counter of a shop; the owner is busy unpacking a carton of chewing gum and arranging the packets in a display tray. You can see the pots of jam on the back shelf and wait to catch the shop-owner’s attention so that you can indicate what you want to buy. The owner continues to re-arrange the chewing gum. Having done that she then opens up a fresh carton of some other product. You are only 1/2 metre away from her, but she evidently still is too busy to see you. Suddenly you are shoved aside by a new arrival: a new customer who immediately tells the owner what she wants: thrusts some money at her and shoulders herself away. Before you can now attract the owners attention. you are more or less buried by two new customers who both start dealing with the owner at the same time. One is making a bulk purchase of noodles and requires some emptying of cartons to help her contain the purchases – the other is having a lengthy conversation about who knows what? Finally they go. You have been at the counter for 10 mins now and in desperation you make noises – any sort of a noise – to indicate that you want something to happen. Reluctantly the owner finally looks at you  and you start your purchasing by sign language. The jam is successfully obtained and now you want to get something else. As you start to indicate your next requirement, the same process starts again: you are shouldered aside by new customers who completely ignore the fact that you are in the process of being served and start their business with the owner. The owner appears quite unperturbed by this process: one can only assume that it is the normal way of doing business.

On the streets of Ulaan Bataar and in the corridors of the train coming through to Russia, we find this same belligerent ‘out of my way’ attitude. People make no attempt to adapt to the flow of bodies on the footpath or in the corridors: they simply barge on, with a square-shouldered confrontation to all approaching bodies. You do well to get out of their way or suffer the indignity of being bounced into touch.

We experienced the  same ‘shopping style’ at the little kiosks on the rail platforms here in Russia. Firstly you had to get past the owner into the kiosk: many seemed to just stand in the doorway to block you getting in. Not a welcome smile, not a shifting of the body to let you in. So you move on to the next kiosk. Ah, here you can squeeze in – there is room for at least 3 people in the confines of this tiny cabin. Just as you are about to make your purchase, two new customers force their way past you and start up negotiations with the kiosk lady, who happily leaves us in mid-air and serves the new customers.

So that is the way of things in this part of the world. What puzzles me is  how and why these differences occur.

Another interesting cultural difference is the almost universal acceptance of corruption and dishonesty. I seem to recall an Indian saying to me once that honesty was only important within the family – there was nothing wrong with lying and deceiving other people: every one just had to be aware of the way things worked.

We have learned that this train we are on is basically a travelling market. Most ‘passengers’ on the train have bucket-loads of things to sell. They have struggled onto the train loaded with sausages, shirts, shoes, blankets, T-shirts, skirts, and dresses etc. At every station they barge their way onto the platform or hang their wares out of the train windows. Waiting on the platform and rail-tracks are hordes of people eager to see what is up for sale. Trading is brisk, sales seem to be good. The fact is though, it is all apparently illegal: as we near Moscow, uniformed people are more and more in evidence, and when they are around, trading ceases. One of the strangest things has been the conduct of our Carriage Attendant. She has been very helpful and early in the journey she got us some very nice acrylic blankets to supplement the rough woolen blankets we already have. The bizarre thing is that at each stop she has been selling off these blankets to the waiting public! What we don’t know is this: is she selling off Railways property or did she lend us some of her own stock, out of sheer generosity, or were we being used as a handy storage facility to avoid duty payments as we went through Customs?? The fact is, you end up getting a little cynical about things in general. And what would that do to your World View if you grew up knowing no  other way?

In a few hours we will be in Moscow and it is going to be very interesting to observe the prevailing culture in the nerve-centre of Russia.

Later…… well Moscow is different again. We have been living with a delightful, warm and generous family. They have smothered us with their hospitality. But out on the streets the atmosphere is different. Russian Officialdom still likes to wield its power, and the paranoia they suffer from still is very evident. Police and military are ever-present, keeping a watchful eye on everybody. Maybe we should not have been there on Lenin’s birthday!

But – the conundrums remain

Here are on the Anak Ranch we are getting a bit closer to living as the early pioneers must have lived. True – we get served our 3 meals a day (albeit usually in a bucket!) which some other kind sole has cooked for us, and we do get to sleep in a Ger- which in fact would not be too much different from a covered wagon. We are so accustomed to sleeping on hard board beds that the occasional wire-wove springy base is quite uncomfortable. A hard base under a sleeping bag and a rolled up jacket for a pillow is our norm – not too unlike  a bed-roll and a saddle for a pillow!

At the gers we are quite accustomed to the ‘long drop’ toilet – and the middle of the night walk to it is none too pleasant with the temperature diving to somewhere below zero. If it is windy (not too often) the wind-chill factor around the exposed tail ensures that you do not linger about the task.

All the kids had a bath (a loose term in the circumstances) in a small tin bath which they found on the ranch. Usually we wash down with the aid of a basin of water so the bath was something of a luxury. Standing room only but at least they could wash themselves down without losing any precious water!

Water is stored in our ger in an old milk-churn, and each day a couple of us wheel it around the corral fences  in an old hand barrow to the hand-pump in the cattle yard. The water comes from a deep bore and has to be coaxed to the surface by vigorous use of a hand pump (which has to be primed before it will do the job)  So again we are learning of the precious value of hard-won water-just as the pioneers would have done.

This evening we had a major clothes washing session using the tin bath once more. We were in fact washing all our jackets, which. were getting in a frightful state. The reason for condition of our jackets was a mixture of much horse riding and the constant dusty Mongolian atmosphere. The dust is so fine it penetrates into everything and just loves our  polar-fleece jackets. The horses are a motley bunch of long-haired Mongolian nags.

As far as we can tell, these horses are never groomed. They do a day’s work and are then stuck into a corral to fend for themselves. Their long hair sheds itself over everything and in this dry atmosphere our polar fleece becomes charged with static electricity. The hair practically flies from horse to jacket and at the end of today’s adventures, our jackets looked more horse hair than polar fleece!

Which brings me to our other pioneer-like experience for the day. Today we went horse-trekking. We had a horse-drawn cart, plus three horses plus another mounted Mongolian ‘minder’ who led the  way and set the pace.

A variety of people rode the three horses, either solo or sometimes two or three up. The rest sat on the flat top of the cart being jarred, jangled and jolted unmercifully as we made our way across the  ragged surface of the plain. We trekked across this vast, seemingly limitless Mongolian landscape,slowly making our way up into the low mountains surrounding the plains we are on.

The cart could not make it up the steep slopes leading to the top so many of us walked.

The lucky ones stayed on horseback and arrived at the top quite fresh. The rest of us laboured on up in varying degrees of weariness. The view and the sense of accomplishment made it all worth while.

 As is normal  in our daily activities, something notable, often amusing, occurred on our trek.The first was not actually amusing: Rach was riding one of the horses and Lboy8 was transferred from cart to the back of the horse, for a change of scenery.  We have had the situation in the yard where 5 littlies sat astride one horse, quite safely. But this was another horse- one that objected to another passenger on the back. The horse did a couple of quick spins on the spot, the force of which launched Lboy8 into space. Naturally he grabbed something to stop the fall. In this case it  was Mama who was trying valiantly to steady the horse down. Her  efforts came to an abrupt end when she was dragged out of the saddle by the boy. Worse was to follow because Mama’s boot refused to release from the stirrup. So the horse took off, dragging Mamma alongside and leaving one shaken and wailing boy in its wake. The victims were duly cheched out and fortunately found to  have suffered no serious damage. Bruises and abrasions were the main points of pain. To their credit, Mama,a re-mounted and after a short while Lboy8 was back on horseback. The other, more amusing incident involved me. (why is it that I seem to be the butt of so many jokes?) I was on the cart, which was negotiating some really bumpy tussocky ground. As the cart leaped up and down I got propelled upward and outward, being ejected from the cart deck, fortunately landing at the run. The rest of the trek was without incident and we all quite memorable day.

Firelighting – Mongolia style. Learned a new lesson this morning.

The firebox in a Ger is sturdy steel box, about 400mm square and 300 mm deep: a drop-down opening at the front and a series of removable rings on the top for easy ‘stoking’ access. The chimney is a 150mm pipe that goes up through the roof of the ger at its apex.

I tried lighting a fire in this box last evening. I scratched up some paper and carefully laid the kindling on top, intending to add some coal when the wood was well ablaze.  Futile hope! The paper burned half-heartedly and failed to do anything to the kindling. This morning Martin’s wife called in and observed that it was  a bit cold. ‘why don’t you light the fire?’ I told her that we did not have any paper to light it. ‘Paper?’ she looked puzzled. What would you need paper for? Where is the candle?’

 Now what would you want a candle for – it wasn’t dark! Ah, all was shortly revealed. She broke up a few sticks of kindling – producing some pieces with splintered ends. These she stacked  carefully at the mouth of the fire-box. Then she lit the candle and held the flame under the splintered ends of the kindling. Quickly the kindling was ablaze and shortly after that she added coal to the back of the fire, via the top loading access rings. The whole procedure took just a couple of minutes. To complete the lesson she then stacked the remaining kindling criss-cross fashion under the rear of the firebox to ensure a speedy drying process. It was a very educational interlude.

NZ’s OSH would have a fit if they had to inspect a Ger. A firebox sitting in the middle of the room – sometimes but not always sitting on a plinth of bricks. The flue which which gets blisteringly hot, is quite unprotected and pokes up through a hole in a wooden panel in the ‘roof’.

There is only one small door into the ger.

There is no provision for an emergency/alternate exit. A  fire in one of these things would be quite catastrophic. Everything in it is tinder-dry so I imagine they would go up in flames very quickly. However, this same design has been used for centuries and no one seems worried to issue safety precautions of any kind, so I guess the safety record must be reasonable. 

China is a land of perplexing contrasts and I think you would have to live here for a long time to really understand what makes this place tick.

Take this area where we are lodging: it’s called the Hutong and it is a fascinating area of ancient clustered dwellings. These dwellings are tiny buildings, connected together by a complex grid of narrow ally-ways but all surrounded and protected by high walls. Entry to these buildings is via ornamental doorways leading into (often) some sort of courtyard. Every thing is incredibly cramped and yet they close themselves off with high walls. Here in the Hutong it appears that peasant type folk live, in the heart of a modern bustling city.

Then there is the ‘Forbidden City’ – another ancient complex  hiding behind high walls’

So they love their privacy and seclusion.

So you would think they would respect other peoples privacy, but quite the reverse is the case. I have never come across such open, in-your-face curiosity as we are experiencing in this country. I have actually been shouldered out of the way so that someone could get a closer look at one of the kids. People don’t  just stop and view you –they come up to you face to face and peer over your shoulder! It’s quite bizarre.

And then on the other hand, for special occasions they love a show of wide open spaces’. We went to Tiananmen square the other day (supposedly the biggest public square  in the world)and roamed around its vast open wind-swept spaces. We dutifully noted that the monument in the centre is the largest monument in Asia (why is that important? I still dont know what the monument commemorated) and looked at the sculptures of the people’s struggle.

Then yesterday we went and had a look at the ‘Birdsnest” and the “Cube’ at the Olympic Games complex. Staggering amounts of space. The paved concourse area is so long that it just disappears into the haze in the distance (although with Beijing’s haze that does not have to be that far!)

But in such a crowded city it is surprising to see all that space. But this isn’t space like Western Springs or the Domain. These are vast areas of concrete with a heavy sprinkling of army and police personnel scattered around the place.

These are not places for a family picnic or a game of cricket. These are places to remind you of the power of the State and the success of the country. There may be parks around this city, but I dare say you will have to pay to get in.

The contrasts continue. The Birdsnest and the other Olympic buildings are a magnificent feat of modern engineering.

There is plenty of modern technology here so the country is not at all backward in that sense. Cutting the city into blocks are 5 or 6 lane highways – always jam-packed with frantic traffic with a healthy smattering of Audis, Mercedes, Porsche etc,

Under the streets runs a sophisticated network of subway trains as smart and efficient as anything around today. And the inter-city trains are clean, smooth and efficient and run exactly on time. I read an article the other day saying that China is going to enlarge its fleet of 200 Bullet trains with another 600 over the next 10 years!  

The logistics of a big, densly-populated country are mind-boggling to this Kiwi, Meanwhile, sharing the streets above are ancient tri-cycle goods carriers carting anything and everything to goodness- knows where

To finish my ‘contrasty’ comments, let me tell you about the work site just around the corner from us here. On this work site a group of 20 or so workmen are producing heavy timber structures. We assume these are either in preparation for a traditional building to be erected on the site, or maybe being used in the Hutong Renovation project which is evidently in progress here. The fascinating thing is to see the old-time methods they are using

The logs are first de-barked by hand, and then planed into perfectly straight and round logs – that you would swear had been trued on a machine. Then the logs are fashioned with jointed interfaces using axe, adze and bow saw, We stood and watched them this morning – marking out a log using caligraphy pen and ink, and a black chalk string. These fellows are real craftsmen, fashioning buildings the way it must have been done over 2000 years ago.

And nearby similar techniques are being used to re-roof one of the Hutong dwellings.Small clay tiles painstakingly laid by hand in black mortar.

Carefully pointed and brushed down as they go with a grass brush. End result quite exquisite.   So it seems that the ancient skills are being preserved alongside the modern technology. You’ve got to be happy about that. 

Today we went on quite an epic trek and for me I am sure it will remain one of the highlights of this adventure. We went for a hike on part of China’s Great Wall. We started quite early – early enough to have on all available clothing and still feel the chill in the air – and we did not get back to the Hostel until about 9.45pm = and it was bitterly cold

I will give you my impressions of that day in the next blog, but first let me tell you about the other aspect of ‘ripping’. The East is well known for the entrepreneurial zeal that its citizens have for making a dollar wherever possible, and for taking advantage of Tourists in particular. You quickly become accustomed to having to reject the first price tendered for anything, and are prepared to enter into a bargaining session for most purchases. But our outing today was memorable not just for the magnificence of the wall but for the number of times the ‘rippers’ had a go at us!

To get to the section of wall that we had selected was going to require a long-ish bus journey followed by a long-ish mini-bus ride.  We walked

 to the bus stop, passing through some rather palatial buildings

 and found our bus waiting-that was good. After getting aboard the conductor=lady came down to take our money, It has been quite normal for he littlies to go free and for some of t5he others to be half-fare (the Chinese system works on the heights of children rather than age) after explaining details of the kids as best we could, the conductor was still unsure how much tot charge us. The driver then appeared (in a bad mood) and said we would all have to pay full price)   Rip-off no, 1

After we had been in the bus for about an hour, the bus pulls up on the edge of he Expressway and the driver comes down and says this is where we get off. WE had asked for a particular town, but this was not in any town! But what to do?  So off we get, thinking that we can possibly walk into town which is visible about a km away. But surprise surprise, who should appear but a gaggle of scalper car-drivers, offering to take us who knows where, since they spoke no English and we speak no Chinese. The light dawns! Rip-ff no. 2 Bus driver is obviously in cahoots with the scalpy drivers  and dellivers us into their hands. Burt we are well used to walking and we are by now a hard-nosed bunch.  Most scalperss drift away but a man and woman combination are determined to hook us. They start off at Y450 for 2 cars to take us. We laugh and walk away. They fairly quickly drop the price but in the negotiations, carried out as we walk closer and closer to the town, we establish that we are only interested in a mini-van to carry all of us, and it would need to take us to one spot and then pick us up from another (this all done by Rob by means of pencil and paper, arrows and lines and numbers, plus a copy of the Chinese names he has photographed and then stored on his Palm! We walk off and leave them again and we think we have seen the last of them, but no – they catch us up in the car and get out and start feverish offers once more. This time the offer is acceptable: Y100. We  still did not know if this was acceptable because we really did not know how far it was to the wall.  However, after a 45 min drive  we decided we had got good value. Y100 instead of the original Y900.

Then we got to the wall and purchased 5 tickets for the walk from point a to point b. Rob had asked for the 5 children’s tickets first expecting a concession rate. But 5 adult rates were charged. However at that point communications broke down as Rob tried to get the 3 adult tickets, they waved us through> So we did not argue! Rip-off no 3 ended in our favour.

So now we started the walk.

 And it was terrific. We were pressed for time  and so did a bush-walk diversion for a few km before rejoining the wall. What’s this? A guy demanding that we pay the same amount over again because we are just starting the walk! We try to explain to him that we have already paid from a) to b) and b) is within sight just 5 more towers along the wall, But no he is unshakable and we have to cough up. A passing European informs us that he is experienced in these matters and we have to pay as we are passing into a new sector controlled by a new ‘division’ It reminded me of our Maori brothers way of charging for things. This feeling was further reinforced when we had to cross a final swing bridge and found, not to our surprise, a guy sitting at the other end collecting a fee for using the bridge!

The final attempt to relieve us of our cash came at the end of the mini bus ride back into the town. Rob hauls out the agreed Y100 and the driver asks for Y120 – due to ‘extra parking money.’ We  are a bit tired by now so we don’t argue, give him the Y100 say thank you and walk away.

It was a ripper of a day!