Dieser Tag ist für mich von entscheidender Bedeutung, da ich auf dieser Reise zum ersten Mal in ein unbekanntes Land fahre und dies mit einer großen Busfahrt, die seit ich davon erfahren habe, mysteriös war. Ich hoffe also einfach, dass alles gut klappt, was das Ticket usw. betrifft.
I waited near the reception desk to see if the delivery man would come by. That meant inhaling a few breakfast cigarettes. Interesting fact: Smoking is heavily restricted in Turkmenistan, and according to Wikipedia, only 8% of the population smokes. And all cars except white ones are banned, but only men are allowed to drive. The dictator wants it that way.
In general, I don’t want to travel to dictatorships unless it means something like “supporting the people (mentally),” like in Iran, where a large majority hates the government.
I’m not sure if my thoughts apply to Turkmenistan, a country with very hospitable people. But admittedly, my main criterion was trying to reach China (another dictatorship) by train. It’s hard to stick consistently to principles when they contradict each other and you have to decide what’s more important.
Another reason not to travel anymore?
At 11:00 a.m., I went to the manager, who told me to wait a little longer, the delivery would arrive soon. That’s exactly what I had hoped for on Wednesday evening and yesterday between 10:00 a.m. and 8:00 p.m.
My time at Yunbo is running out, and so is my time in Urumqi.
At 12:00 PM, the manager himself decided it was taking too long and tried to call, but no one answered. I contacted Ben one last time, he sent me a new delivery confirmation, and the manager called again. This time he got a response, and 20 minutes later, a man arrived with my jacket! I was supposed to pay 14 yen, but I only had 15 yen. I tried to explain that it was okay, but the man was almost confused, and in the end, I got 1 yen back.
I might have stayed at the hostel until I had to get to the station, but now I was too excited, said goodbye to everyone, and left. Outside, I went to the same restaurant as yesterday and ordered yam with mushrooms and rice. I ate very slowly, firstly because of my stomach and secondly because I had more than enough time. The side effect was that I felt full after eating halfway through. I learned this lesson on the container ships (and didn’t forget it, but rarely put it into practice), where I also ate meditatively, always putting my cutlery aside while chewing thoroughly.
But since I hadn’t had breakfast (not that hungry and just waiting, feeling like I shouldn’t leave and couldn’t do much until the wait was over), I thought I could finish without feeling hungry.
Then I went to my now favourite shop to spend my smaller yuan on food (although I still had food I’d bought with my last Taiwanese dollars). The woman was very friendly and helpful, a sort of mutual customer-salesman romance. Besides apologizing again for her English, she said goodbye three times, and with a smile, I walked to the train station. I still had some money and found a larger shop inside (hers was so small that we had to change places when she wanted to show me something, and I couldn’t turn around with my backpack without throwing everything down). After some addition and subtraction, I had an amount that fit my coins and smaller banknotes, and I walked into the station.
Illegible Chinese was now joined by illegible Russian writing, but for a while it helped following people with suitcases. And when I saw “Kacca”, I was pretty sure I was on the right track. Before I’d even finished looking around, two officials asked me in English if they could help me. I showed them the photo of the ticket Han had sent me, and they smiled and said, “Yes, this is our ticket. Just sit and wait!” I have absolutely no problem waiting 3.5 hours once everything is done! After a while, one of them approached me, showed me my ticket in paper, and asked if it was mine (“Martin Wein” it said). I showed her my passport and said that was almost my name. She smiled and said, “It’s okay!” So, if it’s okay, the wait is even more relaxing.
I just want to mention that both women struck me as a perfect blend of Chinese and Turkish, and I think that could be a general description for the “Stans,” at least in the East, and I wonder if I’ll be better able to distinguish when I’m in Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan. I’m not sure if I mentioned the impression I had of the Uyghurs, or whoever else was in the market street when Ben guided me through the traditional center:
I was almost confused by all these possible variations between European, “Central Asian,” Turkish, and Chinese.
