Today, bye bye China, on the way to Kazakhstan!
It’s half past six! I wake up well before time. The streets at this hour are deserted, calm before the storm. I get a head start because I have no idea what is waiting for me at the border, the Chinese have warned me, it’s the rush at the moment, before the border closes for 10 days.
I regretfully leave the beautiful and comfortable hotel and head for the bus station. I can see it in the distance, it doesn’t seem to be full of travellers from here. I rejoice thinking that I am well in time, no jostling, no waiting.
Alas, no. The closer I get, the more I realise that the bus station is in a state of emergency
Ho-la-la. I have to be patient and hope to find a sympathetic, English-speaking ticket agent who is not stressed by the crowd. It’s a lot to ask, but i keep faith in humanity.
I’ve been waiting for ten minutes in the file, I’m very close to the ticket office now, only 10 people in front of me. During all this time, things are getting hot in the big waiting room. People are lining up to get on the buses, men are fighting each other, there are cheaters who pass by, even if it is a national sport in China, some don’t appreciate it. The police arrive in a hurry to calm down this pretty little world with truncheons and calm returns as if by magic.
I am absorbed in the contemplation of the Chinese military efficiency when someone taps me on the shoulder. It’s the friend of the English-speaking Chinese guy I met last night at the hotel. He explains something to me in Chinese which I only understand the gist of: No ticket, Almaty no ticket and then he disappears as quickly as he appeared.
Almaty no ticket? What am I supposed to do now?
I feel a bit lost, my Harvard Chinese has drowned in the crowd. I’m circling the ticket office like a butterfly around a light bulb. I have to find another solution, maybe go to Astana? Another tap on the shoulder. Super English-speaking Chinese man grabs my arm, points to a tall, really tall man, with a Russian mafioso face: “this man will help you! Go! Go! Go!“
What a great idea! That’s exactly what I need. I smile at the austere figure.
He watches me intently from the height of two metres, poker face, not even a twitch of the eyebrow. I feel quite ridiculous but I’m not going to be impressed like that, I keep smiling.
“Passport!” It sounds like Ausweiss Papier! in 1940. I comply and take my precious out of the wallet. He looks at the little notebook, silent and icy, and nods.
“Money!“
“Yes, yes, of course. But with pleasure!” I hand him a hundred yuan note, as does everyone else, which he slips into the passport and before I can figure out anything, he darts off into the crowd. Great! A stranger is in possession of my only sesame to get out of the Middle Kingdom and he has just left with who knows where! I set off in pursuit of him and it’s not easy in the crowd. Fortunately he outruns everyone by two heads, I don’t let him out of my sight.
I see him coming back, then leaving, then coming back, intervening in a fight, leaving again, trying to calm down a new brawl, discussing at the ticket office, pocketing tickets… I don’t understand anything at all, I can’t find any logic in all this.
Like a dog abandoned by its master, I stick to him while trying to get him to give me back my passport
He finally understands what I’m doing and chases me with big gestures (like a dog told to go to the doghouse) towards the waiting room where there are luggage scanners leading to the buses parked in the car park.
I shout, “No no no, no ticket! How can I get through the gate when I don’t have ticket Einstein?”
I can feel that he’s upset by my lack of faith in God. He pushes me ruthlessly through the gate without anyone batting an eyelid and leads me in long strides towards a bus .
I trot along behind him as best I can with my backpacks. Then I see him going through his pockets, taking out a bunch of keys, getting on the bus and sitting behind the wheel. Holy cow, it’s the bus driver!
This stubbornness must be getting on his nerves because he finally gets on the bus, approaches a man sitting there and, pointing at me with an accusing gesture, launches into a short and very animated diatribe talking about passports and many other things in tche-tche-tche-Kazakh. The unknown man turns to me and conveys the message: passport, no problem, passport ok, sit here!
Well, you have sometimes to know how to let go and rely on the grace of the god of travellers, he exists
I put on my headphones and think of something else. What can happen? This man is the bus driver… and I’m sitting in it! Finely, the giant comes back with my passport and a ticket for the trip to the first Kazakh city: Zaisan.
All this went on for three hours, when the bus finally starts, I wedge myself in the seat, ready to take a rest. But no, we have to get off the bus after fifteen minutes of driving. And I’m going to realise it very quickly: getting on and off the bus is going to be the rhythm of the day.
First checkpoint. The customs officers pass the passport from hand to hand, make me go into an office. I have to leave the office without my precious passport which apparently interests the whole garrison. They end up giving it back to me, without the identity photos that I always have in advance, slipped into the plastic pocket. What will they do with it? A mystery. Never mind the photos, we get back on the bus. Another 15 minutes later, it’s time to get out of China again.
Although the Chinese customs officers are really, really nice, polite, smiling, they keep me for almost an hour
I understand that my name is misspelled in the system. They also took the time to search my computer, my camera and my mobile. The Chinese don’t mess around with security. A photo of the Dalai Lama or a selfie with a persona non grata and no way to cross the border. I wait wisely for the doors to open at last because the whole bus is waiting for me outside under a melting heat. Super driver likes me more and more. He is sitting by the window and giving me icy glances.
No worry, no worry. The customs officers are considerate and very friendly. They don’t want me to worry. I keep calm and smile: “No, I’m not worried, not at all. Thank you“.
When I emerge outside loaded with all my bardas and victoriously displaying my stamped passport, the whole bus heaves a sigh of relief and ola!
We get back on the bus, showing our stamped passports to the Chinese officers who are not smiling for a yuan and allow us to board, one by one.
We all sigh at ease, China is over, a good thing done
We come back down ten minutes later to clean our shoes in an antiseptic solution (including the wheels) and some hay before setting foot on Kazakh soil. Everyone is tired of this little manoeuvre but they are obviously used to it, nobody complains, resigned and submitted to the system.
Kazakh border…
Without warning, a very handsome young man in a khaki camouflage uniform bursts into the bus: passport control. Intrigued by my incongruous presence, he runs straight to my seat. Oh, French? All smiles, he says to the crowd that the French are very good. I get a lot of smiles and thumbs up, I’ve become a mascot.
First shift: luggage search, body search, passport. A nice Kazakh offers me an ice cream, everyone is relaxed, confident. It’s almost like an organized trip. At the signal, our herd heads for another building. I get in the queue and chat with the neighbours. Then an officer appears and calls out to me, imperious, to follow him. Ouch, what’shappens now. I obei. I pass everyone in the file and realise that the officer is putting me first.
He pushes me in front of the counter. The customs officer greets me with a thunderous welcome in Kazakhstan! Fransouss beautiful! And stamps my passport at the speed of light.
I wait in the room for my fellow travellers. The officers take turns around me like bees around a pot of honey
