From Six to Four

From Six to Four
Beijing, China
December 6th- 10th, 2007
By Dan Murdoch

“It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop.”
Confucius

AN EVENTFUL few days has seen our sixsome temporarily reduced to four.
Lovey has flown down to Bangkok in Thailand, definitely to collect the spare parts, ostensibly to arrange press contacts, and possibly to meet women.
He flew out on Sunday (9th December) and his separation is temporary. We plan to meet up just over the Laos border next week to fix the cars and continue south.
But on Friday (7th) Zsofi left for good. Flew home to Budapest, Hungary, to a land of exams and studenting.
It seems like she’s been saying she will have to go home for months now, so it was no great palaver. We’d already said goodbye once, back when we were stuck in Xilinhaote and she went ahead to Beijing alone. We ended up meeting and spending another last few days together.
But this time we new it was final as walked her to her cab and waved her off.
It was pretty sad. I guess it will affect the Mighty Tony P the most, they have been driving Dante together for five months, so it’ll surely be strange for him. But I’ll leave that for him to explain.

Before she left I chatted with her about the trip. We talked about how hard it had been for her to come, with her friends telling her she was mad, and her family actively trying to dissuade her. She had to bunk off a semester of university and get horribly in debt to her parents. She hadn’t travelled for more than a few weeks before, and at 21, was the youngest on the trip, and one of just a couple of girls. So it was a pretty brave decision.
Her highlight was Central Asia, her lowlight was being unwell in Siberia. Her best friend was Tony, but she got on with everyone.
Yes, she’s disappointed not finish the trip, but she feels she done as much as she could- she has to go home now for exams.

When we got back to the hostel, I looked around and, for pretty much the first time, it was just the boys. Just the elite who plan to go all the way. In a way that felt good- the final team assembled for the final push.

The next day Carlos, TP, OJ and I headed to a strange temple. The Dongyue Temple.
I don’t think I really got it, but it was full of little rooms with strange mannequins in: devils, gods, men and women, people being tortured or executed in quite disturbing ways.
These rooms had names like The Department of Suppressing Schemes, The Department for Implementing 15 Types of Violent Death, The Department of Controlling Cheating, The Department of Signing Documents, The Department of Retribution and Reward, The Department of Wind Gods, The Department of Giving Birth to Insects, of Opposing Obscene Acts, of Individual Destiny, Reducing Longevity, Accumulating Justifiable Wealth.
Chinese really doesn’t translate to English very well.
There was a donation box in front of each room and I guess if you are affected by whatever the department deals with you’re meant to chuck some cash in there.
I don’t know too many people who have been affected by insect birth, and surely once affected by the 15 types of terrible death it’s a bit late to start bribing the gods. But like I said, I don’t think I got it.
I’ve whacked a few of the pictures up anyway.

On the way back we ate scorpion. As you do.

Later that night the whole of Trabant Trek was accused of being boring by an English woman called V.
“I'm getting a picture of you lot,” she announced in the lounge of our hostel picking off a snap, “this is how I will remember you- sitting on your laptops working. That’s all you do.”
The hostel had free wifi and it’s true we had hardly socialised, instead geeking out on the internet.
But being called boring after giving up our jobs to drive the world’s worst car across half the planet doesn’t strike me as dull.
“Come and play kings, put your laptops down,” she added mockingly.
Well how could we turn down such a challenge? Boring? Not up for drinking? An affront to my Englishness. I can urinate in streets and break garden furniture with the best of them.
We accept.
Kings is a messy and raucous drinking game with absolutely no skill and plenty of downing whatever’s to hand. We all got pretty wasted and loud and ended up blowing off some steam.
Carlos and I continued the merriment, heading out with a couple of Irish lads, an English chap and V herself, to party Beijing style. I hadn’t expected to find a large Nigerian community out here, relaxing with Jack and Jill. They were fun and we carried on clubbing and partying until about 11am the next morning, when Carlos retired and I headed off for the best version of a Bloody Mary Beijing can offer.
It was rubbish.

The next day we hopped on a 12-hour, overnight train south to Xi’an.

The shenanigans completely wiped out the next day, and I still felt crap on Monday. I also lost my wallet in a drunken stupor: sim card for my phone, bankcard, driving license and press cards- all Missing In Action, but that sort of night always involves collateral damage.
I’ve promised Carlos not to put up a video of him trying to re-enter the hostel around brunch time on Sunday. Messy. (If you want to see I can email it you.)
We haven’t been out like that since Bishkek, though the Americans weren’t with us.
When I staggered back to the hostel, around 1pm, clutching the remains of a Bloody Mary, wearing a troubled grin and a squint, I found Lovey all packed ready to fly out to Bangkok.
Not sure what he thought of me, but I didn’t really have too much to say for myself.

Just four of us, with no cars- down from the nine who headed out with four cars nearly five months ago. A sorry state of affairs, but if all goes to plan we will be reunited with the Trabbis later in the week, then smuggle them to the border to rendezvous with Lovey.
It should only take a couple of days.
Of course that’s the plan. It’ll probably take a week.

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Forbidden

Forbidden
Beijing, China
December 6th, 2007
By Dan Murdoch

"A single act of carelessness leads to the eternal loss of beauty."
Sign in The Forbidden City

THE queue was herded from Tiananmen Square across a narrow bridge, flanked on either side by lines of military, each guard demonstratively staring everyone up and down.
Looking for bandits?
I struggled to see what threat could be posed by this sheepish group of sightseers, gawping behind cameras and holding maps upside down.

We passed under the giant portrait of Mao, through thick ochre walls, and into The Forbidden City.
What a title. So named because only the emperor and his court could enter. No commoners allowed please. Well now they queue up en masse to take a look, and not just commoners- but communist commoners, the people excluded by the very title of the place have risen up, overthrown millennia of imperial rule, cast off the feudal yoke, and now form their own chattering parade through the courtyards of power.

At the beginning of the 15th Century the Chinese capital was moved to Beijing, and work on a central complex, the Forbidden City, began in 1406. It took a million workers about 14 years to finish and was home to as many as 9,000 people at a time.
Development continued for the next 500 years while the place hosted 24 emperors, who all provided their own flourishes, whims and fancies. The result is the world’s largest palace complex- more than 800 buildings covering 74 hectares (740,000square metres), palaces, temples, audience chambers, gardens, administrative buildings, shrines, processional avenues and giant courtyards, all enclosed by imposing city walls, overlooked by giant watchtowers and ringed with a deep moat.

In 1947, when the commies got in they toyed with trashing the place- what better symbol of the end of the emperor than to smash the seat of power?
But sense prevailed, and instead they have spent a fair wad keeping the palace renovated and open to the legions of tourists.

I’d arrived alone, but stumbled into Zsofi, OJ and a Swedish girl called Robin at the ticket office. We paid our 40RMB, about $5, only to find the main attraction, The Hall of Supreme Harmony, was being renovated.
This is typical of our trip- of course they’re renovating it now, this is the low point of the low season, no one visits now, everything is cold, and grey and miserable, why would tourists come here now? Anyway the Beijing Olympics begin in nine months, they’ve got to get everything tarted up for the big event.
So what’s the lesson? Don’t travel the world in the off-season. If only we were on schedule…

Despite that disappointment, we were surrounded by grand, stunning buildings. All curved eaves and neatly painted roofs, with shining glazed tiles and marble pillars.
Beautiful, no doubt about it, stunning, historical, steeped in imagery, religion and tradition.
But by the fourth courtyard I got a little restless.
A majestic gateway opening into….another courtyard. It’s a concrete jungle in here, a prophecy of cities to come- giant paved areas, surrounded by buildings.
Maybe the architect ran out of ideas because I got a real sense of déjà vu in each new courtyard. I suspect I am too ignorant to perceive the subtle differences that mark out the various period’s architecture, and too ill-read to grasp the symbolism behind the umpteenth ceremonial gateway.
There are some nice terraces, with some impressive stonework. The Hall of Complete Harmony, nice, the Hall of Preserving Harmony, also nice. But this harmony thing is getting a little thin now.
No wonder the emperor rarely left the city, it’s a right bastard to get out. All those gates and entrances, all those steps, those long courtyards. And the paving is terrible, no good for skateboarding or playing basketball. How’s an emperor to entertain himself?
The last emperor got it right, he had bicycle lanes installed through the complex. Now that’s a thinking emperor.

There are plenty of signs up explaining what the vaguely impressive rooms were used for. My favourite was in the Hall of Preserving Harmony, the Bao He Dia.
As the sign said, Bao He means: “maintaining harmony between all things on earth to have a long period of peace and stability.”
So really it’s the Hall Of Maintaining Harmony Between All Things On Earth To Have A Long Period Of Peace And Stability.
Catchy.
One gateway opened up to show a complex of yellow tinted roofs stretching and sloping elegantly across the eyeline, in the distance a tall hill, thick with green trees is topped by a beautiful looking temple. It is an idyllic setting, a beautiful place. But I found it hard to imagine it in Imperial times, bustling with courtiers not tourists.

At the Hall of Union and Peace the favourite saying of the Emperor Kangxi was written in bold letters on a board hanging at the back.
And the words of wisdom that old Kangxi felt so important they should be memorialised in board form for millions of tourists to glimpse over centuries?
“Doing Nothing.”
These emperors. What a life.
Did I mention The Large Stone Carving?
It’s a large stone carving. The largest in the complex.
These Chinese have a knack for naming things.

At last, at the end of the procession of halls, gateway and courtyards we reached something different. The Imperial Garden, where emperors would relax, entertain and choose girls for their harem.
In spring when the flowers are blooming it must be stunning, but even in dark winter the spidery trees and knotted bows are a majestic playground fit for…well an emperor.
Chinese catalpas, pines, cypresses and wisteria dance across abstract rock formations that hide stairways, towers, chambers and temples.
It was beautiful, one of the most exciting gardens I’ve been to (exciting gardens? Sorry about that). Here I could finally imagine the imperial court: lecherous old emperors with long fading beards making grubby advances on the prettiest youths of Beijing.
Lovely.

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DHL: Don’t Help Little Kids

DHL: Don’t Help Little Kids
Beijing, China
December 7th, 2007
By Dan Murdoch

Hey Friends,

As you may know (see previous post) the cars are broken and we urgently need a small box of parts to be sent from Hungary before we can do repairs. Unfortunately DHL want $1,000 to send the box. We politely asked for a small discount, seeing as this is a charitable venture, and they politely gave us a stream of spurious nonsense about why they couldn’t help (see email trail below).

If anyone fancies firing off a quick email imploring them to help (come on it’s a Friday, you’re not really working), and maybe calling them tight-fisted corporate ball bags, then the kind lady in charge is:
Cessalie Bruce
Corporate Citizenship
Cessalie.Bruce@dhl.com
Her US number is: 954-626-2678

If you could link this to any other blog sites that would be smashing.

Here’s the story so far:

When our great friend and supporter Michael Moore originally asked DHL for help, and outlined our trip, this is what he received from Mrs Bruce.

Dear Mr. Moore,
Thank you for making DHL aware of the Trabant Trek. Unfortunately, this is not an activity which we are able to support at this time. Please understand the decision in no way reflects the quality or caliber of the event. It is based solely on our available resources.
We do, however, appreciate your interest in DHL and extend our best wishes for your success.
Regards,

Cessalie Bruce
Corporate Citizenship
Cessalie L Bruce (DHL US) Cessalie.Bruce@dhl.com


So Mike sent this:

From: Michael Moore
Date: Dec 6, 2007 2:16 PM
Subject: Re: Need Help from DHL to Complete Round World Charity Rally
To: "Cessalie L Bruce (DHL US)"

All we are asking is to get about 60 lbs. of spare part from Hungary to China or bangkok.. All 3 cars are now out of commission... Please, we need help.. even if it is a discount on the freight.

Thanks

Mike Moore

And she replied:


On Dec 6, 2007 2:42 PM, Cessalie L Bruce (DHL US) wrote:

Mr. Moore,
We are still unable to offer you a discount. If a discount were offered through our office, we would have to absorb some of those costs. Regrettably, we are not able to do so.
Regards,
Cessalie Bruce
Corporate Citizenship
954-626-2678

So I did a little research into her excuses, then I sent her this:

Dear Mrs Bruce,
Thank you for taking the time to reply to our requests, and offering you best wishes for our success. Unfortunately your best wishes won’t help our little box of bits get to Bangkok, wont help our little cars get to Cambodia, and wont help the little children there who are relying on us.
All we are asking for is a little discount on getting our parcel of spare parts out here, so we can fix the cars and complete our charitable mission. At the moment you kind folk are asking for $1,000 to send a 60 lbs box from Hungary. We’re terribly over budget, and these costs are threatening our project: we have a budget for living expenses of about $7 per day.
We here on the Trek (and most of the people in our Beijing hostel) find your reasons for rejecting our plea a little flimsy.
I did a bit of research to see if I could support your claim that DHL would be ‘unable to absorb some of those costs (of a discount)’.
Well 2006 was a pretty good year for your German parent company, Deutsche Post World Net. According to the 2006 Annual Report (the latest one available) revenue was up 35% to EURO 60,545,000,000 (count the zeros). That’s $88.4 billion. (http://financialreports.dpwn.com/2006/ar/thegroup/ataglance.html)
Of course, the profit from operating activities (EBIT) was just $5.6 billion. And these are last year’s figures, so I suppose this could have been a terrible year for the logistics industry.
But surely the cost of knocking a few hundred bucks off a small shipment in the name of charity could be absorbed? Sorry Mrs Bruce, don’t buy that one.
Oh but you ‘don’t have the available resources’?
6,500 offices, 420 aircraft, 76,200 vehicles, 1.5million shipments a year to 120,000 locations in more than 220 countries and territories. (www.dhl.com/publish/g0/en/about/network.low.html)
That’s a lot of resources.
You employ more than 285,000 people across the planet, not you personally Mrs Bruce, you are responsible for ‘corporate citizenship’.
Being unfamiliar with this important sounding title I looked up ‘corporate citizenship’: “The role of a company in considering its responsible involvement within the wider community”. (www.ccd.net/resources/guide/glosary/glossary1.html).
Well as a company with a global reach, I think in this case the wider community certainly stretches to the needy kids in Cambodia. And maybe your responsibility is to look a little further than the profit when you can help out a worthy cause.
And if it is vital to have the ambitions of DHL furthered by this charitable gesture, we would happily put your logo on our cars, on our website, on our t-shirts, on a documentary, on our webisodes, and on our blogs, which are read by thousands, and have appeared in newspapers across the world from the Washington Post to the Mongol Messenger.

I’ve put a copy of our correspondence on our websites (www.trabanttrek.org, www.myspace.com/trabanttrek, http://danmurdoch.blogspot.com) so that the tens of thousands of people supporting us can see how DHL have helped.

We do appreciate your interest in Trabant Trek and extend our best wishes for your success.

Regards,

Dan Murdoch
Trabant Trek
+86 150 471 87602


If you fancy bombarding the good lady with emails, and linking this terrible slight to other sites, that would be beautiful.


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The Cars are Broken: Episode 382

The Cars are Broken: Episode 382
Beijing, China
December 7th, 2007
By Dan Murdoch

"Only when the tunnel is in the most absolute dark can you see the light again."
According to Carlos a Chinese Proverb, translated into Spanish, then English.

THE cars are broken.
All three of them- kaput. Fez gave up in Xilinhaote, Dante gave up just outside Beijing, and a few days ago Ziggy refused to start.
Engine problems all round.
It’s frustrating. We have crossed blazing deserts, the icy steppe, some of the world’s highest roads, some of the world’s worst roads, we’ve chugged through traffic in stunning cities, and bombed along deserted highways, dealt with a Siberian winter, a Turkish summer, and always, always managed to scrape the cars forward.
But now we hit China, and what fucks it all up?
A couple of tanks of dodgy petrol.
Can’t believe it. It wrecked the engines in Fez and Dante, chewed up the spare engine we put in Fez, and now something’s wrong with Ziggy.
We don’t have enough spare parts left, over the last four and a half months we’ve gone through or ditched so much stuff, we’re down to the bare minimum.
And we have already overstayed the cars’ Chinese customs papers, which expired a week ago, so we have no choice but to try and get out of the country as soon as possible, rather than attempt any repairs here.

All three of the cars have been boxed up and loaded onto trucks bound for Kunming, about 3,000km south of here. It should take a week for them to get there, then we have to try and get them trucked the last 900km to the border. Personally I don’t think we’ll get them out of the country for another ten days, maybe December 17th?
Seventeen days late. It’ll be interesting to see what customs have to say about that one.
Probably a lot of arguing and some fines. But so far the Chinese officials have been great, so there is hope.

In the mean time the gang is separating again.
The plan, which is always liable to change, is to get the parts we need shipped to Bangkok (See DHL blog). Lovey is hoping to fly there to collect them in the next few days, then he will head back through Laos to meet us at the China border. Tony will soon fly to Laos to scout out a workshop and try to arrange something to tow us there from the border. The remaining three of us, OJ, Carlos and I, will head down to Kunming and find a way of getting the cars from there to the Laos border.
Hopefully we will all reconvene at the border, us with the cars, Lovey with the parts, and Tony with a tow truck.
Mental isn’t it?

So once again the stage is set for separation. The last time this happened, in Khorog, Tajikistan, we didn’t see each other again for three weeks.
This time?
There’s plenty to go wrong. We could struggle to get the cars from Kunming to the border- I'm not sure how much traffic there is on that route.
But I think the most likely delays will be at Lovey’s end. We’re relying on an unreliable Hungarian mechanic to source and ship the parts to us. Then we’re relying on Lovey getting them from Bangkok to the China-Laos border ASAP.
Bangkok is a big city full of distractions, it’s easy to get sidetracked for a few days. And once he’s on the move, he will need to get a few buses, which could take three maybe four days.
So there’s a high chance we’ll be stranded in some two-bit town in the underdeveloped northern part of Laos. But it’s a beautiful country, with great people. And it should be warm.

China. It’s all south from here right? The final leg yes? Easy now ok?
Not a bit of it. The cars are broken, this could be should be our lowest ebb. But strangely, morale is high. We’re in an amazing city, we’re staying at a great place, and surrounded by travellers who think what we’ve done is awesome.
The cars are broken, but not our spirits.

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Hitting The Wall

Hitting The Wall
Beijing
December 2nd-5th, 2007
By Dan Murdoch

WHAT a stupid place to put a wall.
Skirting the steep, pyramid hills north of Beijing, the crumbling, turreted Great Wall of China rises and dips across the horizon as our noisy, angry convoy, stop starts down the motorway.
What a stupid place to put a wall.
If I’d bothered leading an army up those vertiginous slopes I wouldn’t get to the top and go: “Oh bollocks, someone’s only gone and built a wall up here. Right that’s it. Turn back lads, we’re not invading. Lets go home.”
Surely those hills are enough of a natural barrier and don’t warrant being topped by a shaky looking heap of ancient bricks.
And it’s not a continuous wall. It’s a bunch of small strips, a half formed defence, as if the labourers had stopped work during a pay dispute.
What kind of barrier is that?
Don’t worry we’ve sort of walled off China.
Rubbish.
It’s an ill-conceived plan anyway: the ‘barbarians’ that came from the north were mostly the mounted nomadic horseman types. You don’t take horses up mountains, but you do take them on long road trips around ridiculously porous defences.
Really the wall was little more than the emperor’s cock extension. A way for him to show the people he was in charge and define his territory, for tax purposes as much as anything. I read that the Great Wall never stopped a single invasion.
Quite a few people were heading out on day trips to get a closer look, but I really don’t see the attraction.
“What you don’t have walls in your country?” I asked. Flippant wanker.
“I’ll settle for Hadrian’s.”
But the Great Wall did stop one invasion.
Dante didn’t make it. The little Trabbi gave up within sight of the thing, maybe scared by this epic wonder. Three of us hitched a lift from a passing people carrier. Ziggy towed Dante into Beijing.
Just two cars left, one being towed. An ignominious arrival in the Chinese capital.

The drive from Xilinhaote to Beijing was mostly downhill, and as we descended the steppe, the long ridge stretching across northern Eurasia, the temperature rose rapidly from a bone chilling –15c to a pleasant 5c.

For the past six weeks we have been fighting running battles with condensation in the cars, which freezes almost as soon as it appears, so you constantly have to use an ice scraper on the inside of the windows.
But at one point on our trip south OJ turned to me: “Watch this.”
He breathed a deep, heavy lungful of warm air onto the windscreen, and instead of sticking and icing over, it melted the film of ice from the glass.
We cheered that one for a long time.

We found a hostel in a grubby area of town alive with a vibrant assault on the senses. This was the China we had come to see. Narrow streets, unwelcoming for cars, filled with a giddying stream of hawkers, floggers, taxis and shoppers.
Men cooking stir-fry in giant woks line the street, women deep fat frying odd shaped spring rolls. Buddhist candles, fighter pilot’s helmets, digital cameras, wood carved Buddhas, friendship bracelets, straw hats and memory sticks competing for attention.

The forward party agreed to meet the towers in Tiananmen Square, under the big Mao picture. We went to McDonalds, then Pizza Hut. Incredibly expensive Western food, sometimes you just have to do it.

At the bar of our Guesthouse, the sensationally friendly Leo Hostel, I got chatting to a Dutch author and journalist who has been covering the region for 25 years.
My Dutch friend was anxious. He had just published a book about Tibet, the Himalayan country that has been occupied by the Chinese sine the 50s. In it he revealed interviews with a lot of unhappy Tibetans and portrayed the Chinese involvement as an occupation.
Although the book wasn’t to be printed in Chinese, he was worried that someone working at the Dutch Embassy would read it and report him to the authorities. He had a flight out of the country in three days, the book came out five days before, and he was worriedly sitting out the time.
“If they don’t like what I wrote, maybe they wont let me leave.”
I’ll leave his name out of this.
I asked him to describe the Beijing he first saw in 1982.
“The whole city was mostly Hutongs.”
Hutong: area of low-rise buildings with narrow lanes and alleys.
“Which is great, lots of character. But every 50m you have a communal shit house. So it stank. And people used communal kitchens or cooked on the streets, so everywhere there is this smell of cooking and shit.
“There weren’t many proper roads, and the streets were full of bicycles, there were almost no cars- just a few trucks. Everyone was riding bicycles.
“Tiananmen Square was full of young lovers. They would set their bikes up with blankets and do what young lovers do. Not like now: it is all police now.
“Everyone looked the same, because everyone dressed the same. They had the Mao tunic, and the short trimmed hair. I couldn’t tell the boys from the girls. I remember coming back in 1988, when things had moved on a bit, and thinking ‘wow, where did all these tits come from?’”
As the night wore on he got more drunk, and our conversation slowly morphed into him telling a series of rambling stories which I lost interest in.


The next day I wondered around the city and tried to compare it to the Beijing Old Dutchy had portrayed.
There’s certainly cars now- driving around the city is as much of a nightmare as any other- it’s a bustling, heaving metropolis- but there are plenty of proper roads, controlled by solar powered traffic lights.
We are staying in a hutong, but much of the city shows signs of recent redevelopment: sky scrapers, sprawling malls and shopping districts, neat, glassy office blocks and flashing neon. They love their neon, obsessively ringing public buildings in bright lights- an epileptic nightmare of these flashing colours and shapes.
And the people certainly aren’t sexless. This is a fashion conscious society, particularly the younger generation: teenagers in skatery, bright stockings and denim mini skirts with furry boots. Guys in hip-hop leather jackets with baggy pants and baseball caps.
“Shopping is not a sin” one advert gleefully shouts out in bright English. So much for the communist mantras. Our cultural leaders- David, Jodie, Kate- pout down on us from billboards rivalling even Mao’s.

Mao. His portrait hangs, not smiling, but still benevolent, at one end of Tiananmen Square, the square made famous by the violent quashing of a student demonstration in 1989: the iconic photo of the student standing in front of a tank.
On emerging from an underpass I was greeted by a line of five cops, four grunts standing stock-still and a senior, eyeing the passing crowd.
A little over the top I thought, but not too sinister.
I wondered around it and felt the little Dutchman had been a little harsh, it was busy, filled with tourists and guides, hawkers selling Chinese kites and Mao watches. The centre of the Square has the obligatory monument, though this one has no statue on top, and at one end is some impressive statues depicting idealised China men rising up in the revolution of the 50s.
A pleasant nationalistic scene, just like Trafalgar Square.
Mao must have liked his parades. The square is vast, and at one end are huge viewing platforms. The forces parading past would make an epic sight.
But as the square opened up before me, and I could see the subtle scale of the military presence, it dawned on me: the place was under lockdown.
Guards in sharp cut uniforms stood at attention every 50m, remaining so still they faded into the background, almost invisible, but omni present. They are everywhere, but you would only notice if you looked.
It was the same at the zebra crossings, eagle-eyed officials staring warily at visitors as they file through a narrow gap in the perimeter fence.
CCTV cameras ring most of the lampposts, there were scores of them, and must have been hundreds of military and police.
I even felt wary walking around with a notebook out, staring at uniforms and cameras and scribbling.
I can’t imagine there will be too many protests here.


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