죤 히키(아일랜드 총각)가 중국 여행하면서 보내온 편지와 사진

[이경미]

"Inshala!, when you come, I will tailor two Shalwar Kameez for you, and you can stay as long as you wish, and you can use my AK47 and three bore pistol too and eat as much as you want!"

 

"Jesu... eh, I mean, wow.... really... thats great... really?" .

 

"Yes John... you will come to Kotlikalan, Inshala".

 

Noorazeen, the heavy set Pashtun man from the tribal areas of Nortwestern Pakistan sits back smiling in approval of what he has just proposed. We are sitting on the trans Karakoram bus from Kashigar in the frontiers of western China to Passu, deep in the Karakoram range of Northern Pakistan. I'm am feeling nervous, for a number of reasons. Firstly, I've never travelled to this sort of altitude on land before. The Kunjerab Pass to Pakistan is nearly 5000 meters, the highest border pass in the world and the risk of sickness at this height is severe. The summer thaw will have destabilised the terrain along the Karakoram Highway (a narrow route through the towering peaks) leaving a high risk of rockfall and road blockages. So, getting trapped for and extended period could possibly mean death.

 

My second reason for nervousness is less severe and soley based on materialisim. The four Uyghur daggers I have purchased in Kashigar are nestled out of sight in my large backback, but may aswell be painted luminous orange and adourned with exploding Chinese firecrakers once the SilkRoad 3000 Xray machine scans my belongings at the border. Things have changed on the ancient trade route I guess.

 

Finally, I don't know wheather to trust Noorazeen. His tribal Pashtun way of life is far removed from my own liberal, progressive (I hope) outlook and vastly removed from the East Asian cultures I've come to adopt. As with most Pashtun people, his hospitality is as radiant as thermonuclear explosion and as inescapable as an interstellar singularity.

 

"John... John"

 

"Noor?"

 

"Eat this Roti... have these biscuts... you are feeling ok?... I will write my address.... my brother lives in Birgmingham... drink this water... you will visit my village in the mountains... we will go to Daar am Khel... this is my home phone... have a bannana... sit, sit"

 

"Ok... is it ok for me? I mean, I look western, although someone said I could pass for an Afghan if I have a beard and my green eyes and..."

 

"Of course... you wil be safe with me... they are my people and you are not from U.S. or U.K.... yes, you will come to Koltikalan, Inshala".

 

The thoughts of going to this man's village are very exciting and to tell the truth, I am very hounoured and lucky to have experienced the all engulfing hospitality of the Pashtun way. Noor is an extremely devout middle aged muslim who tells me he prays nine times a day and his hospitaliy is typical of the musilm way.

 

"Noor"

 

"Yes"

 

"You know the way I take many photos and all?"

 

"Yes"

 

"Well, I know in your culture its bad to take photos of women right... and I don't want to or anything, but what would happen if just say, I did?"

 

"You would be shot"

 

"Hahahaha.... no seriously, would there be an argument or something?"

 

"You would be shot"

 

"JEESU...ehehm..I mean..Oh... right" 

 

The journey presses on and Noor falls asleep. I'm in the process of taking crap photos of distant Yaks from the moving bus when I'm approached by a young Punjabi man named Jafar from Lahore. Hes a decent sort and he tells me he has business in Dalian in Eastern China. I get the impression he's from a weathly familiy. He's on his way home to Lahore, overland to his brothers wedding in June. Within minutes I am invited, and within seconds I decide to accept. It seems a vastly safer option than a trek into Pashtun territory, where I'm sure a barrage of local hospitality would be amazing, but a cultural foot in the wrong direction could have dire consequences.

 

"John"

 

"Huh.. wah..?

 

"John.. wake up we are here.. we will get a room together... you, me the Punjabi.. it is cheaper"

 

"Ok"

 

We have arrivied in Tashkorgan, the last town in China. Its poulated by  Tajik people and I get the feeling I've stepped into the set of a Hammer Studio production. There are lambs heads and limbs on the side of the road. The people look like a cross between Eastern European and Turk. All of the women are dressed in traditional Tajik gear and the men are decked out in clothes from black and white photos circa 1910. They are tough looking people, well used to their environment.

 

"John... come on"

 

We climb the three flights of stairs which leave me out of breath reminding me I'm at 3500m and kickstarting my anxiety again. The room has three beds. One for me, one for Noor, one for Jafar. Jafar heads out to get bananas, leaving me alone with Noor.

 

"Is that your mat"

 

"What mat?"

 

"Your praying mat"

 

"No... the hotel's"

 

"Wheres your mat?"

 

"At home"

 

"How do you know where Mecca is?"

 

"The Sun"

 

"What if its cloudy and you're in a new place"

 

"Alah hu Akbar"

 

About an hour later Noor has prayed, Jafar is eating his bananas and I'm checking my pulse and scrutinising my hands to see if they're swollen... an early sign of mountain sickness. We decide to go get a bite. The meal consits of local kebab food, a kind of samosa, and some spicy stuff with bird. I eat it all and pay for everyone's food in attempt to counterbalance the juggernaught of hospitality I've recieved. It amounts to 1.50 euro. We go for a walk for about two hours and try to get into a 600 year old fort, but are met by a local in a combat jacket who says it costs two euro. The guidebook of lies says we can sneak in around the back so we march off and get stuck in a kind of swamp. Noor takes over command at plotting a route. Jafar in immaculate trainers looks worried. I dont really mind as I'm wearing my US combat boots accquired a la 'five finger discount' from a Thai Staff Sergent. We reach a crossing where I miss calculate trajectory and lose balance due to my ever present camera. My leg ends up one foot deep in glacial runoff and goat shite. Jafar looks absolutey horrfied at my misfortune and I start laughing at my stupitity.

 

"Come... John...come... now"

 

"Huh"

 

Within seconds, Noor is squatting down washing my boot and leg in an area of clear water and I try to stop him. He won't quit and I feel  ashamed having someone cleaning my boot. I protest again and he persists, so I let him at it. It is another insight into his culture and way of life that he would clean a mans boot without hesitation.

 

"Are these.... AMERICAN boots?"

 

"Ehhh, no... maybe.....yeah, I guess so.... I got them off a Thai marine...in THAILAND"

 

"They are very good boots"

 

"Yeah, they're Gore Tex"

 

Eventually we get to the fort and have another run in with the combat jacket on patrol. Each of us reacts in completey different ways, me sitting down trying to avoid it, Noor aggressivley bargaining and Jaffar running around erratically trying to get a free glimpse. Eventually we retreat, defeated. Back at the hotel Noor shows me how he prays and I watch for about five minutes. I consider taking a photo, but I dont want to get shot so I back into the room where Jafar is lying down and we start talking. Then, Jafar uses Noors absence to show me a fone photo of his girlfriend in China. She is Russian and semi naked in her underwear. My mind says 'But, you're Musilim', my mouth says, 'She's very pretty, you are lucky'. This is emphasises the polarity between my roomate's two cultures and its an insight to Pakistan... Pashtun, Punjab, Ismali, Sunni, Shia, Kalashi.... so many people!

 

Thirty minutes later I'm reefing my guts up in the toilet. A secondary sign of AMS ( Acute Mountain Sickness) and the one before Pulmonary Odema and two before brain damage. 'Fuckit' I think. 'I've landed in it again, I'm on the verge of AMS, I'm sharing a room with a Pashtun Tribesman, my Yak photos today were shite and I'm carrying contraband out of China'. 

 

"I just got sick"

 

"You are ok?... what do you need?... have a banana?... I will get you Seven Up"

 

Noor's concern is neon and he declares an expedition to the shops to get Seven Up. I hand him money, but he won't hear of it and darts out to get the supplies. Jafar reckons I should go to the doctor, but I reckon I have mild food poisoning and maybe the witch doctor in Tashkorgan will make me worse, so I go out and puke again.

 

Noor returns with Pepsi.

 

"They had only THIS"

 

"Thats fine... thanks a million Noor... you're great!"

 

"Look John, P-E-P-S-I. Penny-Each-Penny-Sells-Isreal"

 

"Oh"

 

I flatten it out and drink it as we watch women's volley ball on the TV. Holland are playing China and I wonder whats going through Noor's mind as he watches. I know whats going through Jafar's. Then night falls and we all go to sleep, but I hear Noor getting up to pray at least twice during the early hours.

 

The next day we reach the border and our passports get checked five times. Some of the Pakistanis joke about being mistaken for Taleban and I joke about being mistaken for IRA. Noor isn't laughing though and I ponder what hes thinking again. After all the passport scrutiny I manage to get through with my knives. I had worried for nothing and maybe people do it all the time anyways. The soldiers did take them out and inspect them however, but all the time laughing. Maybe they're terrible quaility.

 

The next five hours consist of Noor offering food and telling me of his home sending out another phallanx of invites in my general direction. He mentions something about a daytrip to Warzirstan, which perks my hears up.

 

"Warzirstan?, but the war. Uzbeck and Pashtun... no?"

 

"No, it's safe, they are my people"

 

"What about the, em, the ehhhh..... the, emmm"

 

"What?"

 

"The Taleban"

 

"No problem if you wear Shalwar Kameez, we will go to tailor shop and I will get you two!"

 

"I dunno"

 

"Maybe just your villgage"

 

"Inshala"

 

Going to Warzirstan will be a bad idea. For starters its off limits to me in accordance with the Pakistani military. If they catch me there they might think I'm an agent or journalist or something, for real this time. Also, the Taleban hang out there, with their guns and all that. Currently, theres a tribal war taking place, the yanks also like bombing the area, the British may think I'm trying to buy guns for the Republicans and the Afgans like kidnapping people for ransom. It's a terribly dusty place this time of year anyway.

 

"I'll go to your gaff, but not Warzirstan"

 

As we cross the pass (Zero Point) I get excited and Noor welcomes me to Pakistan. The Pakistani border guard tells us that the Chinese driver is drunk and then Noor shows me how cigarette lighters dont work at this altitutde. We begin our decent through the Karakoram peaks all the while Noor pointing out interesting scenes and offering food. I sit literaly with my jaw open as each hairpin revaels a new towering canyon or majestic peak. The ever so precarious route is the most impressive rugged scenery I've ever witnessed and I realise I'm at the roof of the world. Just unbeilievable really. This continues for hours as I take more crap photos of Kunjerab Marmots and eventually we near my drop off. Noor pulls me aside.

 

"John...John.... there are many, many good people in Pakistan. But, like everywhere there are a few bad people. Don't accept drinks or food from strangers. They will take all of your belongings. Pakistan is a good place. You will see my village soon, Inshala"

 

"Yeah... your right, thanks Noor, its been a pleasure traveling with you".

 

I couldn't help thinking that I'd done everything he'd told me not to do in his company in the past day and a half. We shake hands and and say I'll contact in a week or so. I wonder would it be a risk to go to his village into such an area of fundamental Islam and Ideals far from that of my own society. The man's hospitality is inescapable at times and I'm left wanting for more. His completely different culture is so tempting to observe and exprerience, but at what risk. I decide to make my decision at a later date. Then, I jump of the bus into a new strange and challenging world with its plethora of polarised cultures. 

 

John.

 

 

Note: sorry about spelling. No time to correct.

 

 

John Hickey
www.nomadscreen.com