Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
whatever else lay ahead was just so beyond my comprehension that I felt uncon-
cerned.
After retrieving our passports, we followed the officers into a four-storey build-
ing. Chris was barely visible beneath a thick film of dust. His usually green jacket
was bordering on brown and his face seemed to be blowing away in the breeze.
I noticed a couple of dried horse crap 'biscuits' poking out of the pockets - we'd
run out of diesel and he'd been collecting them for our cooking fire. Most strik-
ing however was his footwear. He wore, like I did, a pair of red Gore-tex mitts as
socks. The sleeve for the thumb flapped loosely over the side. In fact, almost noth-
ing remained of the shoes except the worn soles and the laces that bound his feet to
them. As a general rule Chris was the clean one. I could only imagine how I must
have looked.
My anticipation of a dirty, dark, windowless interrogation room was crushed as
we were ushered into an office on the third floor. We were seated on lavish arm-
chairs facing a large painting on the far wall.
Out the window I noticed a crowd of officials huddled around our bicycles. I
wondered how long it would take before our policeman friend would cave in and
ask questions about the bike and our journey.
For some time we sat in silence while the officer flicked through our passports.
Then another man rushed in. He had marginally better English than the arresting
officer. 'Hello. Okay, I will ask you some questions. Where you from?'
'Australia.'
There was extensive discussion before they arrived at a conclusion. 'So, you are
foreigners?'
'Um, well, we are not Chinese,' I mumbled.
This seemed to satisfy them. 'When did you arrive in this town?'
'We arrived about five minutes before the policeman met us.'
'When?'
'Just now.'
'And where did you stay last night?'
'Well, we don't know. We stayed in a tent. There were a few trees nearby, prob-
ably about sixty kilometres from here,' I said, but the translator was having trouble
understanding. Finally, Chris was reduced to miming the idea of sleeping in a tent.
When that led nowhere, the translator decided on a new course of action. 'Can you
give me your map?'
