1994 Travel Part 9 - short time in Kazakhstan

We landed in Karaganda at four o'clock in the morning.  This was a little of a problem because they told the people there that we would land at six which meant that nobody was there to greet any of us.  Except the Mafia man who had a chauffeured car ready to drive him from the plane to wherever he wanted.  I was cold outside and didn't want to stay in the drafty airport, but I thought it was too early to call my friend and announce "I'm here!"  Plus, I didn't know where the phone was anyway.  After some convincing of the state of my personal safety being alone there from a German tourist and his girlfriend who was from Kazakhstan I made the call.

I had a fantastic time in Kazakhstan!  It was a continual adventure, not that anything went wrong, but because of the experience of being there.  I walked, I talked, I went to the parks, I went to a concert (and saw Mafia man again).  I received a free tour the museum and their new exhibits that weren't open to the public yet because I was an Anthropologist!  I even had drinks at the KGB colonel's apartment.  In fact, his daughter is a friend of my friend and helped arrange my visa.

Granted there were some tense moments like when I had to go the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and "check in."

-"So, what is your profession?"

-"I'm an Anthropologist and Sociologist."

-"And what organization do you work for?"

-"I don't work for an organization.  I'm...uh..."independent" right now."

-"Are you here on business?

-"No."

-"Why are you here then?"

-"Vacation"

This poor guy must have either thought I was spy or an idiot.  Karaganda was a former gulag and mining city.  Nobody ever came there for "vacation."  It took him a while to be convinced of this, but soon he sent my friend and myself on our way.

Or when I tried to exchange money.  For some reason the banks were having trouble exchanging money then and they would help me.  So I had to do it illegally with some guy at the bank who wanted western cash.  During our transaction people saw us huddled in the corner and ran over to see what we were doing.  We almost started a riot and had to run out the back stairs.

               

But one of the more enjoyable things I did there was go to a Russian bath house.  It was great!  I went there with my friends uncle and some of his friends.  You strip down and go into a steam room that's so hot you can't breath through your nose.  I tried and it felt like someone set all the hairs in my nose on fire!  Then you can either sit down and rest which is much like sitting on a hot stove.  I learned the hard way that you must angle yourself in a certain position so as not to let another part of the anatomy rest on that same surface.  Or you could take a birch branch and beat yourself with it.  I'm not sure how this particular custom came to be, but you smell great once your done.  Once you get out of the "sauna" you run over and poor a bucket of ice cold water over you.  Two hours later I was exhausted (going from hot to cold continually), but I felt, looked, and smelled like a new person.

Unfortunately - I'm still the same old me.

1994 Travel Part 8 - Central Asia bound

I stayed in Malta for two weeks and left when my friends father informed me that they were now moving.  I assume that this was planned before I got there and they weren't moving because of me.  In Belgium I continued my quest for the tickets and the visa.  Much to my surprise I found and contacted the airline for the tickets, but instead of leaving on the twenty-seventh as I had hoped and I would have to leave on the twenty-ninth.  "No problem" I thought "I just tell the Embassy that over the phone and they can switch it immediately.  After all I'm asking to arrive at a later date not an earlier one."  After a brief conversation I was informed by the Embassy that this would be simple enough and that the matter would be taken care of when I got there.  So, a couple days later I find myself back in Brussels.  

I was a little early that day and decided to see parts of the city that I'd never seen before.  As I was walking along I heard a large commotion off on one of the main streets.  Being naturally curious I wandered over to see what was going on.  It appeared that a large group of Walloons (French speaking Belgians) were protesting something.  Minding my own business I stood to watch them go by when all of the sudden a group of people run over to me and pull me into the demonstration.  I must have marched about an hour before I knew what I was demonstrating against (an educational policy effecting Walloon schools).

I managed to break free from the group and make my way back to the "Embassy of Doom"

-"Do you have my visa?"

-"Yes, here you go.  From the twenty-seventh of October to the seventh of November."

-"No, no.  Over the phone I asked you to change the date from the twenty-seventh to the twenty-ninth and you said you would, remember?"

-"Oh, is that what you wanted?  I didn't understand you."

-"In that case, I was wondering, can you just correct the visa now?"

-"I'm afraid not.  That would be against procedure.  For a new visa, what you'll have to do is..."

-"Yes, I know  have my friend write another letter of invitation, take it back to Ministry of Foreign Affairs where they can check it again and they'll fax you the visa once more, is that correct."

-"Correct."

Figuring that it would take them at least a week to repeat this operation I decided that perhaps I should visit a friend in Lille, France. 

FRANCE

My friend in Lille was a girl I had not seen or had any contact with for years.  Truthfully, I was surprised she remembered me at all, but she did and she showed me a nice time around the town. 

BELGIUM

Time was running out though.  I had my plane tickets and was scheduled to leave in two days.  I needed that visa.  I was so determined that I decided I was not going to come home without this visa and would sleep at the Embassy if necessary.  Yet, even though they told me to come over I had prepared myself mentally for what would happen.  They would surprise me no more.

-"You said you had my visa?"

-"Yes but there is one problem"

Gee, there's a surprise.

-"It appears that although the Ministry of Foreign Affairs sent the visa for you, we did not get the confirmation needed.  This means that I really shouldn't give you the visa until we receive it."

I had all I could endure and they exhausted my patience.  I was tired of playing this "little game" with the Embassy and resorted to something that I hated doing.  I slipped some money into my passport and handed it back to him. 

-"Would you do me the favor and look just one more time?"

It's not that I'm against bribery as a whole, but I am against it when it involves someone doing their duty!  Regardless he left and came back with a smile on his face.

-"I found it!"

-"Somehow I thought you would."

I sat in solemn silence on the way home from the Embassy and looked in my passport at the precious visa.  Evidently he just wrote over the previous date in the former visa like I asked him to do before.  It didn't matter now though.  I had it.  I finally had the VISA!  I felt like a conquering hero.  All the trouble I had obtaining visas for other countries seemed like child's play to this.  "I can take anything!"  I was wrong.

I flight was scheduled to fly from Germany to Karaganda, Kazakhstan.  Sleeping at the airport in Dusseldorf I was definitely early enough for my flight.  I was also early enough to see some of the other passengers would be on the plane with me as well.  One that stands out in my mind was a member of the Mafia who when I first saw him was conducting what it looked as "last minute" business with several Russians who were seeing him off.  I assumed they were Mafia by the way they were dressed and mostly by their behaviour; it was like something out of a movie.  Then I noticed that he was continuously protected by a bodyguard at his side at all time.  The interesting aspect of them is when they escorted ten to fifteen women on the plane with them. 

But this was none of my business.  I boarded the plane and estimated that the flight should last about eight hours and so I might as well try to get some sleep.

For some reason I couldn't sleep and after about four hours the plane landed.  I knew we couldn't be in Kazakhstan already so where were we?  I looked out the window and couldn't see a thing because it was pitch black outside.  Then I began to make out some forms that were approaching the plane; they were...soldiers! and they had guns!  "Oh my God!  They're after this Mafia member and we're all going to die in the shoot out!"  O.K. so I overreacted, needless to say it was a tense situation seeing these men and not knowing what was going on.  Eventually people began to get off the plane, but I thought "This isn't Kazakhstan.  I'm not getting off here." and remained seated.  That was of course until a guard boarded the plane and held the barrel of his gun to my head and motioned me to get off that quickly changed my mind and got off.

Following the other passengers to what apparently was an airport I finally saw a sign of where I was Belorussia.  "What are we doing here?" I kept repeating to myself.  I soon learned that it was the border check and re-fueling stop that all planes must go through.  The problem for me was that because the plane was coming from Germany, the declaration forms were all in German.  After explaining to the guard that I don't speak German he laughed and escorted me up to the front of the line where I received a personal service from a woman who spoke English .  It was rather embarrassing to be honest, because I was the last person in line and now I'm getting the royal treatment while everyone is told to be quite and wait.  I turned around to a lot of glaring and confused faces.  Luckily we didn't have to wait long and resumed our flight.

1994 Travel Part 7 - Malta finally

Rome!  One of the oldest cities in Europe.  Full of history, charm, and dirt.  Architecturally and culturally Rome is incredible, but after seeing how clean the German railroad stations and airports are Rome could take a few lessons.  After a restless night of sleep I was not fully prepared for the full force of the Italian experience.  It only took me an hour to locate the travel agency that unbeknownst to me was only forty feet away from the train that I arrived on and by then I was fairly exhausted.  This was due to the fact that I was carrying all my luggage (Oh! and guess what I was wearing again) all around the station.  At this agency I had the displeasure of having a conversation that sounded rather familiar.

-"Excuse me, can you tell me where the ferry that goes between Sicily and Malta leaves from?"

-"To Malta from Sicily?  There is no ferry to Malta from Sicily."

-"Sure there is.  I was in Malta last year and I'm positive there's a ferry."

-"Well, there's no ferry anymore.  What you should do is go to another tourist agency and maybe they can tell you a way to get there."

This was then followed by him making surly comparison between me and Oedipus Rex  and a nasty reference to my genitalia.  I'm not fluent in Italian, but I know enough to recognize some of these words.

I walked all over Rome to three other travel agencies and not only received the same answer to my question, but also the frequent bombardment of insults.  What really amazed me though was that there was no ferry.  Malta is so close to Sicily that on a clear day you can see it.  If you really wanted to you could swim there!  Realizing that my original plan was completely obliterated I needed a new one.  The only other way there was by plane and since I was in Rome I just went to the airport and bought a ticket.

It goes without saying that since the travel agencies in Rome had me walking all around that I missed that last flight to Malta by about twenty minutes and spent the night in the airport until my flight the next day.

MALTA

As I've stated, I've been to Malta before and it still amazes me.  The island is great place to visit.  It's a beautiful, rocky little island surrounded by crystal clear water and it has a history that has given the culture a certain "richness."  It's the "culture" in particular that I'm referring to though.

It's origins are Italian, Arabic and English giving them some strong traits which they incorporated into their daily lives, but they've also been attacked and colonized by invading parties which also have had a deep rooted effect upon the people.

This brings me to another interesting story.  One night, having nothing to do my friend and I are walking around the capital city of Valletta talking   As we were walking on a road next to one of the city walls which extended about sixty meters up something hit the ground near us.  Personally I thought I must have kick a stone or something, but my friend stopped and looked up.  She saw that it was some young people who were throwing things down at us for not reasons.  These "things" were actually rocks the size of my fist, which from that height would gain enough velocity to crack open our skulls like an egg if it had it.

After pondering the situation in for a few brief seconds I thought the best plan of action was "RUN FOR COVER!"  Unfortunately, my friend thought it wise to scream back insults at them.  She swore like a drunken sailor.  In fact, I must have jumped a foot a back from her in surprise as she used words and phrases that shocked and embarrassed me (and I thought I knew them all!).  Her tactic was unsuccessful and only brought about an incredibly massive show or force on their part as the sky began to rain with these head crushing rocks.

I'm not sure what would have been the best thing to do at that time.  The city is a maze of streets and alleys, a virtual Labyrinth.  I, being the accidental tourist, would have no chance of finding them.  Even if I did find them I estimate the odds of me actually surviving hand to hand combat with about ten opponents and however many friends they can gather with them is about one and a million.  I do know that my friends next choice of action was not the one I would have chosen.  She ferociously challenged them to come down and fight.  "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!!"  I thought starring at her "They're going to kill us!  Let's just get out of here!" and then all of the sudden the stones stopped.  "Did her strategy work?" you might wonder.  The answer is "no" because about two minuets later a car came roaring out of one of the gates on to the road headed for us.  Luckily we were able to get off the road onto the path next to it.  Normally I would have bolted down the path like a jackrabbit, but the occupants of the vehicle were two twelve year old boys.  "I was almost killed by them!!  You little bastards!!"  What followed for the next few minutes was a battle of insults on both our parts.  I thought about approaching the car, but decided against it thinking that if they could get they're nasty little hands on a car, perhaps they could have obtained a weapon of some sort.  I didn't want to find out the hard way and kept my distance.

Finally, they drove off and left me to start considering taking a flight back soon, the next day was looking preferable.  As we continued walking into the city we walked up on a certain terrace were there was a monument of some kind.  Across the street, about the same height as our terrace was another terrace with (guess who) the same group of kids!  While trying to get away from them we found them (I'm so lucky).  And the little rock throwing war began again.  This time though there was a group of men around my age there who found our situation "amusing" until one of them almost was hit with a rock and then all hell broke lose.  There was fighting, throwing and people running around.  These guys suggested that they escort us out of the city because of what was going to happen.  Evidently, what a lot of these children do is try force you to chase after them and fight them.  Then while being chased they call out about twenty of their friends and they proceed to beat the tar out of you.  This is called great fun for them.

On the way out of the city, we found a policeman and reported what had just happened.  Basically he just looked at us , shrugged his shoulders and walked off.  Not really the response I was hoping for.  He could have at least lied to me and said he would do something about it.

The next day I did some shopping in the city and saw a fight break out in the middle of the street.  I haven't been back to the city since.

I am happy to report though that the rest of my time in Malta was wonderful.  I went and swam during the day and enjoyed going out at night.  Although a nice place to visit, I would recommend that you be very careful if you go.

By the way there is a ferry between the two islands!

1994 Travel Part 6 - Malta bound

Once getting settled back in Belgium I continued my struggle with the embassy to get a visa to Kazakhstan until one day they said they finally had it and all I had to do was come over and pick it up.  So I go.  As the consulate officer and I are taking care of the final pieces of business we begin to have a conversation that I didn't want to have.

                -"So where in America are you leaving from?"

                -"Pardon?"

                -"Where in America are you leaving from?  New York?"

                -"I'm not leaving from America."

                -"But your an American."

                -"So?"

                -"We assumed that since you're an American, you would be leaving from America."

                -"Why would I go to the Embassy in Belgium if I was going to leave from America?  Wouldn't be easier if I just went to the one in New York?"

                -"I suppose so, but now we have a problem.

                -"What sort of problem?"

                -"We have to get the place of "origin of travel" changed"

                -"Can you just write it on there now?"

                -"Oh no.  What you have to do is have your friend write another letter of invitation, take it back to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs where they can check it again and they'll fax us the visa once more."

That night I was actually glad the train ride was long because I was ready to kill someone and needed the time to calm down.

During the next week I called my friend and asked her to re-do everything and tried calling a certain airline that would take me to Karaganda in Kazakhstan.  I had the name of the airline, but the wrong number.  German information couldn't even find it even though they searched a couple times.  When I called the Embassy back about a week and a half later said it was all set and to come over again.  By now, the whole situation has become rather humorous to my relatives and I who were beginning to take bets on if I would ever get the visa.

I've been to this Embassy so often that I'm well known on a first name basis.  Not well loved, but well known.  The same process as before follows and before; much with a similar resolution.  In fact, the only difference is that I started off the conversation.

-"So that visa says I'm leaving from Germany, right?"

-"Yes, and you'll be leaving on November twenty-seventh, correct?"

-"November twenty-seventh?!!  I said OCTOBER twenty-seventh!"

-"Well, they have November on the pass"

-"Well they have it wrong!"

-"Perhaps your friend  wrote the wrong month."

-"Perhaps the Ministry of Foriegn Affairs  wrote the wrong month!"

-"Regardless, in order to correct this problem, you're going to have your friend write another letter of invitation, take it back to the Ministry of Foriegn Affairs where they can check it again and they'll fax us the visa once more."

I could hardly see straight I was so angry at this man.  By the time I made it the station I felt worse as his words kept churning over and over in my head.  First, he accuses my friend of making their mistake (I had talked to her enough where she wouldn't have made such an error) and then to tell me to do the whole process over again.  "This is insane."

This time though the train home was not as relaxing.  I sat there reading the paper when a man came in and was looking for place to sit.  Although there were plenty of places to sit he sat right across from me and tried to start up a conversation.  Understand that I was in a bad mood and didn't want to be disturbed so I kept reading the paper hoping that he would get the hint.  Finally he comments on how he likes the ring I wear.  I begin to think that this guy is going to mug me.  Then he actually took my hand to get a better look at it.  I almost jumped out of my seat as I pulled my hand back.  I continued to read as he continued to talk and then came the "icing on the cake."  He leaned forward and put his hand on my knee!  This was quickly followed by me yelping and jumping up ready to beat the living daylights out of this guy.  Don't get me wrong I know that some people are friendlier than others, but this was pushing the limit.  As it turned out he wasn't a mugger, he was making a pass at me.  Although "flattered" that I could actually attract a man by sitting there with a paper in front of my face I explained that I was a devout heterosexual and would have to decline his offer to go to his house later that evening. 

After dealing with the Embassy, trying to find the airline (further less - contact it), and this incident on the train my nerves were pretty shaken and I decided I needed a vacation from my vacation.  I needed someplace warm to help get rid of my cold...hmm...Malta!  I have a friend in Malta who I can visit!  I called my friend up and asked her if it would be O.K. if I visited for a couple of days.  She agreed, and told me I could stay at their house so I wouldn't need a hotel.  "Wonderful, just the sort of vacation I need!"  Looking at my maps I decided to take the train from Belgium to Sicily and catch the ferry to Malta.  The only problem was that I couldn't figure out were the ferry left from.  In order to solve this minor problem I went to the local travel agency the next day and asked.

-"Excuse me, can you tell me where the ferry that goes between Sicily and Malta leaves from?"

-"To Malta from Sicily?  There is no ferry to Malta from Sicily."

-"Sure there is.  I was in Malta last year and I'm positive there's a ferry."

-"Well, there's no ferry anymore.  What you should do is when you get to Rome ask one of the tourist agencies there and maybe they can tell you another way to get there."

"No ferry?!!  There has to be a ferry.  These people are obviously misinformed."  I was determined to correct this error when I got to Rome; a place where they could tell me the truth.  Or so I thought.