Watch yourself in Yemen! Yemen is still living in the Middle Ages! Do you really need to go there?
David and I were lead to the Yemen border along a winding road through canyons and plateaus 1200 metres above the sea. There are camels by the road, on the road – much too many of them if you ask me. Arthur followed us by bicycle and was about a day behind us. I was worried on account of the “scary” Yemen which was to be a test of this trip. Despite David’s visa expiring, the friendly Oman border patrol did not charge him the EUR 17.5 per day fine. We wrapped up the proceedings at the border quickly and said our good by. Once in Yemen, they pulled out a list of Schengen area countries from a drawer. I almost got a lump in my throat when, to my great surprise, the police officer immediately found “Slufenia”. I don’t know who was more surprised, me or him. In a few minutes, a visa worth EUR 35 was nicely placed in my passport, covering an entire page. "If you were an American, you would have been given a month, but Slovenians and Spanish get three months!" the police officer added laughingly. When he opened his mouth, I could see a ball of grass in it. I revived my patriotism and again became a proud citizen of the Republic of Slovenia.
Astonishingly, the customs clearance also proceeded relatively quickly and we soon started descending towards the dangerous coast. In the first village, we were greeted by everyone and I have not seen such sincere, straightforward and hospitable smiles anywhere in the places we have passed by. Even if they were immersed into some work, even if they were staring mesmerised into the truck, our smiles immediately cheered them up and brought wide smiles to their faces, followed by greetings.
Good, now where are the terrorists? Where could they be hiding? We didn’t know, so we decided to set a bait. In the dark, we drive onto the beach; the crashing of the waves can be heard from afar. I drive closer to the sea. For the bait to be effective, I deliberately dig the truck into the sand (Carmen, don’t say a word ;)). We wake up in the morning – still alive. As I am stubborn, I don’t want to deflate the tires for those couple of metres (inflating them takes 45 to 60 minutes), so we use the sand ladders for the first time. The trip along the shore takes another day, and we spend the second night in a magical place beside a fish pond (yes, literally a fish pond) under palm trees next to a fishing village. A few cars drive by during the night, and the house is still not riddled with bullets. Where the he.. are those guys?!
We stop in a village to get some lunch, but they are closing the restaurant. We ask if we can get something to eat anyway. They invite us to their table where we have some chicken and rice, and they only charge us for the Canady Dry, the local version of Coca Cola. EUR 0.16 a piece. Hmm, the terrorists must still be under cover. Military control points are becoming a more frequent image, but uniforms are still as rare as they were. Besides a gun in their hand, they all have those balls of grass in their cheeks. But that ball is not salad, and it’s not a meadow either. Glassy eyes, which they all have – from soldiers to police officers, drivers and bakers – are like that because of Khat, an intoxicating grass that calms and thrusts a man into timelessness. It supposedly also energises, but we didn’t quite understand whether it increases or decreases virility in men. In men that is, women of course are not allowed to chew the grass, nor smoke, nor do many other things. While they are young, they laugh and are quite lively, but when their female hour arrives, they have to start acting decently and must package themselves neatly into black packaging. David and I wonder how you can find your wife if she decides to run away from home. It is probably as difficult as it was to find one’s Fiat 500 in a large parking lot after a nights-worth of snowfall in the seventies. With a postscript that no one pulled a gun from behind their belt if you accidentally started digging out their car.
There are still no terrorists to be found. All the soldiers are interested in is where we are from, what’s in the truck and where we are headed. And which company we work for. They are much quicker in realising that the back of the truck carries a house and it would seem that they have already heard of Slufenia, while they refer to Real Madrid as “Isbania”. As David is also a Real supporter, we remain friends. But we did make a mistake of figuring out that our host is a Barça supporter only after the second tea. But even then, no one pulled out a gun or an axe.
Right, so let’s see what the first larger city will bring. Al-Mukalla, on our third night in Yemen. We stop by a neatly arranged mouth of a river in the middle of the city. When we are buying confectionary from some Indians (yes, they have settled here too), two small black ghosts approach. We can only see the eyes. Aaaah, those little eyes. "Where are you from?" a gentle voice enquires in impeccable English with pronunciation beyond reproach. We start talking and I find out that the two ghosts are learning English at school. And when we ask them what the red band around the arms of one of the ghosts means, they reply that this is because of St. Valentine’s Day which is in two days. And immediately, and I mean straight away, they add that none of them have boyfriends. Great! Excellent. Now we’re relieved. Aaaah, this brings back memories of Iran. Iran where similar small ghosts were approaching me, but I could see their entire faces. They talked to me in rudimentary English even though Carmen was walking right beside me.
So where then are the terrorists? In shisha bars? At the potato chip stand? Maybe in the cyber-cafe with an ADSL line? Where are the Middle Ages? We are disappointed. We want another movie! Did true adventure really end with Indiana Jones II (the third part was one half-baked joke of a movie)??? We spend the night in the city, hoping that we might find them the next afternoon on the narrow city streets. If we live to see the next afternoon.
We search for them around mosques, under pots and pans, and in boats. But to no avail. We are so disappointed that we ask for professional help in our search at the control point for Al-Mukalla. A police officer with a rifle joins in the truck and accompanies us to Bir Ali. The mission is a failure. We have not found a single terrorist, and David and Massudi were only successful in imitating Donald Duck. And goats, donkeys, etc.. I won’t go into detail so as to preserve David’s dignity.
At Bir Ali, we get reinforcements to help us search for the bad guys. We will be accompanied by a police car with five republican representatives (yes, Yemen is a republic). They drive in front of us, behind us, with all five indicator lights on, with lights on and off, with a siren and without it. Thanks to our escort, the only thing we stop for at control points is the speed bumps, improvised from thick ship rope. They take us almost to Aden. It is already dark and our escort bids goodbye. Another failed mission. We drive into town disappointed and hoping for more success. At the beach, we meet a man who addresses us in American English. He has a shop in New York. He is in Yemen only to visit his family. "There are no terrorists; the country is safe," he squashes our last hope. We look at his Jambia that adorns the national costume from behind the belt. We elaborate on the topic and, when he opens his coat, we see a gun. "Is it loaded?" I ask, expecting an answer that it is only for decoration purposes. "Yes, it is, but it is not aimed." You don’t say! "Why do you have it then?" I wonder. "You never know when you’re going to need it," is the intelligent answer I get. It is obviously true that there are three times as many weapons in the country than there are men. And yes, I have finally decided not to repeat the thing from Salalah in Yemen. Searching for David’s hotel, I stop at a crossroads for a minute to ask for directions. Immediately, a burst of unending honking starts behind me. When the first car passes me after the crossroads, I show them my new Rhein axe – the one for falling trees in the woods. We then have a heap of problems with the locals. Considering the guns behind belts and huge balls of grass in the cheeks, it is wiser to burry the axe for a while and have a few cups of camomile before starting the truck.
For around EUR 4, we treat ourselves to a fish and half a kilo of shrimp for about EUR 7 for our last night. The shrimp was prepared for us at the restaurant next to the fish exchange. Aden receives an excellent mark. The town is spread across volcanic hills just like Masqat. These provide shelter to ships in an excellent natural port with a great geostrategic position between Europe and India, which it got after the opening of the Suez Canal. This is why we don’t get a feeling of being in a metropolis here.
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