And then the Rain Came

The Red Shirts had planned a demo just outside of town – about an hours drive from the hotel past the old airport which has been replaced by a lovely looking new one – just really badly designed inside and always hot and sticky. I digress. At the meeting point there were only a handful of protestors already there. I have to thank Neville for these photos and the ones in the previous blog too – though there are some screen shots which look very good now as we are shooting in HD.

The rest were in a convoy from their camp in the centre of town on mopeds and in pickup trucks. About a hundred police with varying degrees of riot gear were stood keeping one lane of the highway free.

 

All we had to do was wait for the rest to appear and then see what developed. Not knowing what the plan was. Interviewing the head policeman he said he had strict orders not to use force but to keep the peace.

 

Suddenly everything started to move very quickly. There were some shouts amongst the protesters and they seemed to be moving. On pickup – which appeared to have leaders in it started moving as people piled in. Rushing towards it I jumped into the back and Alex followed. We left Neville and Moy behind. For the next 25 mins sat on the back corner being held on to by the man next to me and clutching the camera we rushed weaving through traffic back towards the city eventually arriving at our destination.

 

The Police and army knowing about the convoy had blocked the highway out of town – spread razor wire across the road and had taken up defensive positions. When we reached them not many protestors were here. Just a handful and some of those were hiding themselves form identification. in fact many seemed to be local residents and on lookers with young children.

Above us was the new elevated highway and below four roads each with three lanes separated by concrete reservations holding the pillars. The line of police was on one of theses that was leaving Bangkok. Their weapons clearly on display. Interesting was their cartridge belts. Some having transparent cartridges – presumably the rubber bullets, some with a mix having traditional red casings – live or blanks and those with M16’s – so you couldn’t tell.

A local journalist who was in the pickup with us, put didn’t speak English, motioned that we should follow him – and as he seemed to know where he was going we followed him past the column of military vehicles – water cannons, ambulances to where a new defensive line had formed about three quarters of a mile away in the ensuing traffic jam.

From a position of safety and with a better view of any movements Alex and I were up on the central reservation like many others waiting and watching. A couple of the officers started shouting, and scrambled up on to the concrete barrier next to us pointing and screaming at a man who loitering near by.

Within seconds gun fire ricocheted over our heads as he ran off. Immediately and with out thinking we dropped prone to the ground sheltering beside a foot high hedge. Not the greatest cover but you have to make do with what you’ve got. The shots continued to ring out the sound echoing through the concrete arches and Alex then did a breathless piece to camera as i lay on my back trying to keep the camera steady and film towards my feet but not have them in shot.

Silence soon reigned again and we got up and made our way towards one a concrete pillar. Better protection than a hedge. Meanwhile soldiers continued their forays which resulted in occasional gun fire.

In due course we ended up by a petrol station. The oncoming traffic had turned around and gone else where, the Red Shirts appears to be about 500m away. So now we were at an impasse. If you haven’t noticed the army were wearing blue scarves and the police nice shades of pink or green. Occasionally the odd spotter teams went forward and then came back again. Here we are caught up with by Neville and Moy and they go back to the van to get the body armour.

With out any particular provocation or reason the line of soldiers outside the petrol station started to move forward. I do like the little guy on the end who seems to be saying ‘Hi do I move too’.

They settle down back into a line and we started to set up to do another piece to camera with them in the back ground. Woof – a lump of rock lands between Alex and I, and we are only a couple of feet apart. More started to fall as well as bottles. In an instant this is replied to by volleys of fire as a gunfight breaks out. At the same time Alex and I start to swiftly (which is an understatement) move out. Picking up the camera and scrambling round the corner to shelter behind the petrol station wall in order to take spot of the situation. Next thing I know my leg is stuck down foot wide concrete storm drain, the camera is heading south and lens smacks into floor as I fall. Getting up – thankfully nothing is broken just a sore leg. I check the camera and its not working. Retreating further into the petrol station with Alex we shelter behind pickup meanwhile the sounds of gunfire continue. Swearing a lot I work on camera checking everything as to why its not working. And then the rain came. Clouds had been on the horizon and now they decided to let us have it. Someone came up to us to check that we aren’t hurt – but my attention was on other problems. Nice to know though. Eventually the camera turns on and records. Back in business. I swing it back on to my shoulder. More swearing – the lens is buggered – very stiff to focus, almost needing two hand to turn the barrel and it won’t zoom mechanically.

Manhandling what is now a series of very expensive but near useless glass lenses in a tube we do another piece to camera from the corner of the pickup still with gun fire in the background. After that I manage to get a few shots before things quiet down a bit. Alex reckons that took about 10-15 mins. I’m not so sure.

What had happened was that the traffic was still allowed to flow on the elevated section and the Red Shirts had worked this out, stopped above and started to attack the forces below. Looking back towards the road some blue body armour looking stuff was on the corner and a shadowy– Neville type figure… It was on both counts. It was getting wet and as we were it would afford some protection from the elements too. The fighting finished we moved a short distance down the road with the troops.

Sadly this photo isn’t a result of my battered lens and its a real shame its not in focus but as Neville says its my ‘Mr Bean look’. The helmet sideways so its easier to look through the viewfinder. Neville on the other hand has little excuse.

The only thing we can do now is wait. The protestors are still away down the road and all seems quiet. But of course it doesn’t last. Shouting comes from the next carriageway then some shots ring out. A stretcher called for and the bearers disappear over the wall. A few minutes later they pass again carrying a soldier who didn’t look in too good a shape.

From what we could work out he was a casualty of friendly fire. A group of soldiers were heading towards the our position on mopeds. A small group at the head approached first – they were were warned to stop verbally, but didn’t. Rubber bullets were then fired over their heads but still they continued to approach. The soldier was hit and very sadly died. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to write this but it happened and its not something to hide. He’s not the first casualty and unfortunately I expect he won’t be the last – though I hope I will be proved wrong. I think that this event largely and to some extent the rain helped to calm the whole situation down.

Not long after, this though a good four hours after we first got there a senior policeman arrived and got the traffic flowing again. Still nervous the police checked each car as they are slowly let through and onwards to complete their journey. We move on, heading off to find protestors to talk to about their side of events.

Nothing really in comparison to the poor incident earlier.

This is Thailand

Its very hard to describe what the Red Shirts have done in Bangkok. As a bit of background there are two main parties in Thailand, simply but not necessarily accurate the Yellow Shirts who support the Aristocracy and Red Shirts supporting the Workers.

 

The Red Shirts want new elections and their protest took the form of demonstrating in the centre of Bangkok. Not just for an hour or a day but for 7 weeks so far. Not just a suitable place to congregate but a huge area. We are talking at least a square mile including office blocks, hotels and shopping malls... And to defend their space they have built some defences.

Fortified like a little village in Gaul, straight out of Astrix and Obelix, sharpened 15ft bamboo stakes poked out of tyre walls hidden behind razor wire. Sorry but how do you get hold of razor wire, let alone get thousands of tyres into the city and then make road blocks with out anyone noticing?

A very physical and impressive defence but we had no problem getting through. Its just the police and army who aren’t allowed in. As we drove further down to the next junction this was just the outer ring. Here we left the van and walked through a similar barricade down to the main area. Passing people who were now occupying the area so it couldn’t be taken back, living there day and night.

Reaching the main stage which was positioned under the metro line in the shade. At the centre of one of the main junctions in downtown Bangkok. And though it was 9 am there were still hundreds of people watching and listening to the speeches. When we came the night before there must have been a good few thousand and a very much festival atmosphere.

A huge roof had been erected from above the stage stretching 100 yards down the road providing shelter from the sun. Sadly our lives had to be in done in the sun – where it was blindingly hot and humid. Within seconds all of us were drenched in sweat.

Zipping off my trousers to make shorts really didn’t help a great deal either. Being seriously uncomfortable, while Alex, Neville and Moy our translator went off, using every piece of cable I managed to get us under the shade. A lot more comfortable and visibly more interesting. During the first live from our new position a Thai guy with a cleanly shaved head and around 50 or so, started to walk through the back of shot, wearing a black skirt. Not a sarong or something traditional but a knee length skirt. Above this a black vest top. Not unusual in itself but the obviously old and now wonky large implants were. Unbelievable. Not sure if interesting is the right word actually.

Moving on. At some stage every one seemed to stop and listen, and read their texts.

Underneath market stalls frames along the central reservations in the shade, families had set up camp. Here they slept, ate and were starting to hang out their washing too.

Time came to leave and another trip through the defences. This time from the inside.

Even in the van it wasn’t any cooler. In fact my elbows seem to have swelled up.

Next on the agenda was a Yellow Shirt protest – which was really a one hour lunchtime sing-a-long, under another shaded bit of road a little way away. Mainly attended by office workers who all disappeared back into their air-conditioned buildings at at 2 o’clock on the dot – and some others too!!

On our daily journeys to see what was going on we came across more defences being constructed by the side of the road. Power for the welding torch coming from a nearby house, once finished, these barbed wire and steel barricades were then placed across the road and weighed down with sand bags.

I can think of no where else in the world where any government would allow this complete defiance of the rule of law. Its not really anarchy, its quite gentle, but with obvious seriously dangerous and explosive undertones, so it is anarchy but …

This is Thailand!!

Into the Thunderdome

Preparations for this trip started before we left India. Well Alex and Neville had been working on it for quite a while. For me it involved not shaving though to be honest not sure what difference that would make. The object was to spend at least a night with the Hezb-e-Islami Gulbuddin militant group (kinda Mujahedeen started up by Gulbuddin Hekmatyar in 1977) near the border with Pakistan in Kunar province. We had been granted full access to the community and our safety guaranteed by them. The day before had been sorting out everything required, car – Toyota Surf, translator ‘Mr H’, route and various other logistical stuff.

Though only a couple of hundred miles away it would be a 5 hour drive to the meeting point which meant leaving at 6.30am. We would also wear local attire so as to draw less attention. I had bought a kurta pyjama set (£3) in Delhi which had to be died a mucky green colour (£2) as they only had white ones. And very little is white in Afghanistan. Another issue being a slight style difference. Pakistani and Afghan shalwaar kameez having much looser fit around the legs as opposed to the Indian version which is much tighter – as they tend to be very skinny. Not the easiest of things to move my tree trunks around in but better than nothing.

Up at 6am and having had breakfast in the room I got dressed. First in my new mucky green threads and then trousers, jumper and fleece over that, leaving the hotel as ‘normal’.

Within a few hundred yards and already feeling uncomfortable I slipped off my trousers, and jumper to stop me from overheating. Though cool wearing too sets of clothing was a bit much.

It’s always interesting seeing places as they wake up. Kabul is no exception. Not too busy but plenty of people going about their business. Just as we were getting going on the way out of town we screeched to a stop skidding along the road. An APC (armoured personnel carrier) was blocking the road with a ISAF soldier, 50mm cannon by his side, holding his hand up. A patrol was coming back to base from patrol and we waited as half a dozen more APC’s turned into their base. Would have been a surreal end to the journey – crashing before we had left town.

Not too much further on we stopped to pick up some bottles of water as business’s opened up for the day. Young and old starting their chores.

 

Leaving the city there was a parked convoy of new military equipment on one side of the road and old burnt out Russian wrecks on the other. We passed effortlessly through the city limit checkpoint which marked the edge of Kabul in and headed into a valley and started to weave our way down through ever impressive and taller canyons. 

Impressive doesn’t really cut it. The size and steepness very reminiscent of the 3 Gorges Valley in China but here a much narrower gully, so presumably a younger river which still seemed to be cutting through the mountain with ease.

On the way up hill in the opposite direction an endless flow of (successfully) invading traffic, lorry after lorry many with Pakistani plates bringing supplies heading towards the capital. At one point we were stopped by army for about 15 minutes. As the cars stopped it was obvioulsy a cue to take the the opportunity to go for a quick walk and find a good looking rock or patch of ground to water – as every occupant who spilled out seemed to be doing this. The reason for stopping it turned out, there was a security issue a bit further down. A mile or two further down the road we passed a couple of US army vehicles – who had obviously been following something up.

Eventually the seemingly endless gorge ended and the landscape turned softer flatter and we could see the green hues of still water and cultivation. The odd ruined village nestled in the foreground with the ever present mountains looming in the not too distance. Thinking back to my A Level days this gentle landscape was ex-glacial indicated by lots of large rounded stones embedded throughout the sides of the hills. Smoothed by the pressure and movement of the glacier on top. (Or that's what I think I remember). This gave way to yet another incredibly steep valley just after the town of Sarubi.

This tank was raised on a plinth by the side of the road. Most of the time the rusting hulks are just left there – and are a constant reminder to all who pass of how tough the Afghani’s are and the respect they need to be given against invaders.

Three hours after setting off we reached Jalalabad and then texted Neville to update him on our progress. Alex woke up from her slumber throughout most of the journey so far as we stopped so the driver could grab some breakfast. When he returned to the car with freshly cooked chicken and a small plastic tub of salad it made our snack of nuts and Pringles look decidedly unhealthy.

We headed on north now towards our meeting point. It was very hard to know how far we had gone none of the villages we travelled through had signs – in English or Urdu. All we knew was there was an American base we had to go past but didn’t know where it was either.

Finally we reached a large settlement which I presumed was Village A which was our first geographical marker. As it turned out - not! This was Town B. Knowing that Town B was further than we needed to be we had passed through the Village A on the way unnoticed. Mr H asked it we would stop here. No, we would turnaround and go back – but how far. Our Mr H who now proceeded to show all the endearing qualities of Inspector Clouseau in being completely indiscreet and asking for the Village C where we would meet up with our contact. First we had to go to Village A and this was 10 miles back down the road but there were militants there and this would be dangerous – yup we know that. Back in the car we headed back down that way. After about 3 miles we stopped to fill up with petrol as the tank was half full. Again rather sitting quietly Mr H decided to get some local knowledge. Again he asked for the Village C despite us asking him not too. The American base came up again and concern as there where more militant groups in the area. Nothing like keeping a low profile – nothing like it at all. With a flurry of phone calls we established that we would be met at Village D now which was just the other side of the base. Finally we set off for Village A. On the way we were stopped at a police checkpoint outside a US base. You could tell that by the 16ft walls, razor wire and huge white blimp that was tethered albeit at ground level – looking for all intents and purposes like a beached whale. Classic Clouseau, Mr H asked direction from the policeman! Alex and I looked at each other with utter bemusement.

Finally we reached Village A. Stopped again and Mr H asked for directions to Village D now. The response that came back was Village E. Noooooooo. Village D – the one you wrote down in Urdu just now when you spoke to the contact. Why would we want to go to Village E. But Village D is dangerous – many militants. Ahhhhh. I need to point out that Mr H did know what and where we were going. Also very importantly that once we met our contact at Village D our safety was guaranteed – if not this would be a foolish thing to do. Turning off the main road headed now towards Village D.

After about a mile we came across a barrier in the road which as we came closer was part of the Amercian bases’ defences. Driving up there was a sign announcing this was COP Badel. COP standing for Combat Outpost. Underneath that those humorous Yanks had written ‘Welcome to the Thunderdome. World best two way live firing range’. Nothing like winning hearts and minds!!

The driver, Mr H and myself had to get out of the car and be frisked quickly. Alex was left alone. The fact that they ignored the bags in the back, as is often done, always gets me. Once more Mr H was told that past the gate the Taliban where waiting – obviously just for us. To ease his concern he phoned our contact who was waiting for us up the road to see if it was safe. This was done in front of the soldier with the car window open. Not understanding what he was saying but in terms of being discreet, sensitive even secretive – in any way shape or form this was not the way to go about it. The coast was clear, the barrier raised and we passed through.

Safely at Village D we were met, packed up what we needed and started off for our walk to Village C through well tended paddy fields, across a dry river bed and past houses, some derelict some not. After about 15 minutes at most and no more than about 3 miles from the US base we came up to an small patch of flat land about the size of a badminton court half shaded by trees. Here we were met by the local Commander and a few of his men.

This band was distinctly unimpressive too. Only one AK47 and two walkie-talkies between them. Climbing up to meet them I heard the familiar rip of fabric. I had just split my trousers. (Yes familiar as I have been through a few pairs of jeans lately. But thats because Asda prices at £6 a pair is unbeatable – though they don’t last very well.) Fantastic. For once I was very glad that I had brought the trousers I had walked out of the hotel with as spending two nights with our friends as well as walking for hours up mountains in ripped trousers would have been horrendous. After a quick bit of filming I nipped off to a secluded spot a hundred yards away changed – and had a pee too. With great relief I returned to the group feeling so much better and not having my bum hanging out.

The Commander asked what the programme was a we explained that we were planning on staying with him for a night at least so we could see how they live, prepare and generally conduct their daily lives. Hmm he thought. This would not be possible. Alex made a phone call to a contact and we waited. In the mean time however we interviewed the Commander and in a surreal turn up for the books a couple of the foot soldiers started to take videos and photos of us. In particular Alex, including a very close tilt up and down her body. Not that she was wearing a bikini but may as well have been.

Finally after a long hour of waiting in what was a beautiful peaceful valley, this would be the end of the programme – even with Mr H stating he was a very good translator to us, yeah right. But to give him his due he was once a Mujahedeen and fought against the Russian and spent 7 years in a Russian prison being tortured. More frantic phone calls followed but something had spooked our guests and what we thought was going to happen wasn’t. All they said is that it was too dangerous for us, there were Taliban around and they could not guarantee our safety. What is really was we won’t know but most likely a combination of things. Mainly our indiscreet entrance and probably my presence.

In the middle of this I received a text from my Dad letting me know that the cache near his house back in Devon had been fixed. When I went to see him before coming out we had an unsuccessful session as the clue had gone missing. Oh the things that make you smile.

Any way that was it and wanting a photo in what remained of my unconvincing bid to look local I had my photo taken looking down the valley. Despite being filmed the group refused to have a group photo with us. Though they were very proud to let Alex know that this was the furthest a female foreigner had ever come up the valley. But would not be going any further.

And with that we were led back to the village where we had left the car and driver. Passing by houses with children gathering along the way watching us leave. Alex, as ever on the phone, but this time letting the office know that we we on the way back.

 

Just before we crossed the dried up river bed the sound of a short burst of small arms fire made its way up the valley towards us. Either AK47 or it may have been a 50mm machine gun. It lasted for about 20 seconds may be –but was a single weapon. This our guide told us was the Taliban firing at the American base. Great. Hopefully it wouldn’t last long. Thankfully it didn’t and was replied to with a quick succession of three mortar rounds on to the hill top in front of us, less than a mile away. You could see dust rising were the rounds hit rocky crags and then the sound of the explosion washed over us and rumbled onwards up the valley.

After a few minutes waiting no more activity occurred from either side and we continued to the car. As we entered the village we were guided to rope bed, name of which escapes me at the moment and forced to have tea. Not my preference as we had to get back to Kabul before nightfall and wanted to crack on. Anyway the tea was ready and being poured, placed in front of us with some nibbles.

Quickly a large group had come to watch these foreigners have tea. Starting with the men folk they appeared.

The boys, curious and shy.

The young and the old.

And despite how tempting they were, the blue sweets just seem to attract the flies. And they seemed to enjoy them. Alex and I left them, the flies obviously content in being sick over them and sucking up the remains.

The crowd grew, we finished our tea and made to leave. Smiling at the kids, the guy in the dark brown clothes who we had met up the valley and came back with us turned and spoke to me directly. Mr H with a huge smile translated this as ‘He says you are an American soldier who like to kill our children and women’. To be honest left me a little speechless. Thankfully once this has sunk in Alex defended our position. And without wanting to get into the discussion any deeper it was now definitely time to leave. This definitely gave ground to them seeing my presence as a threat. In a society where all the men fight – why would that not be the case anywhere else. I was simply being viewed as a soldier or spy.

As we waited at the American base for the barrier to be raised, a US soldier had his M16 trained on the car. Passing through we all waved and with the gun now lowered he and his comrades waved back.

Not sure if it was the tea or not but both of us seemed to get headaches as soon as we left. The last couple of bottles of water were soon necked, and chicken was put on the menu. A quick stop to refuel our bodies in Jalalabad was planned as we hadn’t had lunch yet.

Leaving Jalalabad we headed uphill for the 4000ft ascent back to Kabul. Late lunch consisting of deep fried chicken legs, very greasy & soggy chips with a two foot long naan each. Yes a I did say a two foot naan. Once more tackling hairpin valley, overtaking those heavily laden lorries when possible. Following them through the tunnels bearing the marks where containers had touched the sides filled with the smell of burning clutches and gearbox's.

The road rules being as soon as you emerge from the tunnel its your chance to overtake whatever was slowing you down. Here we have one truck over taking another, with us in tow, while on coming traffic free wheels down the hill.

And at least a thousand feet drop on the other side.

Back in Kabul showered and freshly, clean shaven we headed out for the last pizza and a drink at Gandamack. No drinks being available at the hotel. Well only juice or tea or coffee or water or something missing a vital ingredient to wash the day down with.

No doubt we this would be set up again and we’d have another go visiting ‘friends’. And that’s another story.