David Gray

Access for foreign journalists to Asia's longest running civil war between the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) and government troops, is very tightly controlled by the Sri Lankan government. Getting near the front line area known as the 'No Fire Zone' is only possible with an officially sanctioned trip organized by the Ministry of Defence. Last Friday, April 24, I went on one.

The trip started at 3.30am, when I arrived at the military air base in Colombo. We went through 3 security checks, before boarding our plane at 6.30am. We flew north for about 30 minutes to a small airstrip at a place called Mankulam. From here, we boarded two Mi-8 helicopters. To avoid any ground fire, the choppers fly at maximum speed just above the height of the tallest trees, and when I say just, I mean scraping the leaves. This fast and furious ride lasted just 30 minutes to the town of Kilinochchi.

We had a quick briefing, and then we set off in a convoy of armored personnel carriers towards the front. The carrier that I got into was a very old, clunky thing of which there was not much evidence of suspension. The roads in the area had suffered 25 years of a civil war, and were in seriously bad condition. Myself and and a TV cameraman tried our best to grab pictures as we sped along at around 50 miles/h but we were being thrown around so much, even for me to get the camera up to my face and see through it, was near impossible. We held on the best we could, and I managed to get a few 'usable' frames of a scorched and destroyed landscape. Every single dwelling was either destroyed or uninhabitable. It reminded me of East Timor in 1999. Burnt out vehicles lined the road. What was most noticeable was the absence of people. There were simply no civilians anywhere.

After what seemed like hours, but was actually only one, we arrived at the destroyed town of Puttumatalan. Here we got into jeeps. The troops that were escorting us got noticeably nervous. They held their guns at the ready now, looking more alert and more intently into the coconut groves as we passed. We must be close now, I thought.

After about 20 minutes driving down a dirt road, we turned a bend. Suddenly, there were thousands of exhausted and weary looking civilians. They were being given small amounts of food and drink by the soldiers, but only enough to last them a day or so. This was when our escorts really started to hurry us. It seemed they didn’t want us to talk or view these civilians for too long, and after just 5 minutes, we were told to get back in the jeeps. Frantic calls were made on radios, and we were told we were now headed to the front.

In just under 10 minutes, we arrived at the place where just days earlier the Sri Lankan government soldiers had pushed their way through the LTTE defenses, leading to a mass exodus of civilians. Smoke billowed less than a mile away where, we were told, troops were continuing to fight. Being so close, our escort now numbered almost 100 heavily armed soldiers. We were severely exposed standing on a road that cut a path through the lagoon, but this was where we were allowed to stay the longest of any of the other stops.

For a full 30 minutes, we photographed and filmed what we saw around us. Clothes and rubbish lay scattered across the dry plain. While walking amongst all this, I found a packet of film negatives that showed mourners at a funeral. Sadly, it was rather an appropriate subject matter in such a place where so many had most likely died.

After driving back to the battalion headquarters, we were once again in an armored personal carrier, driving back to the helicopter landing area, with our driver narrowly missing 3 cows and even skidding off the road on one occasion. Once we boarded the helicopter, everything went so fast, and before we knew it, we were on our plane and heading back to Colombo. Stepping onto the runway, it dawned on me what I had just done. In a single day, I had been to the front line of a war in an area that is extremely difficult to reach and come back to civilization. I was exhausted and dripping with sweat, but what about the people trapped in the war zone? They didn’t get to fly back to the comforts of a city. They continued to endure the horrors of war in dire conditions and horrendous temperatures, with minimal food, water, medical aid or even shelter. What about those who got out, but had a long journey to a refugee camp ahead of them, with no clear idea when they can go back home. It reminded me of a book I finished reading a few months ago called ‘Dispatches’ by Michael Herr about his experiences as a correspondent during the Vietnam war, and how he found it strange flying in and out of war zones. I could see what he had meant a little more clearly now – just the craziness of it all.

Click here or on the image above to view an audio slideshow from the Namo Monastery.

Recently, I went to the Chinese border-town of Dandong on the Yalu River to see what I could photograph to match stories about reports that the North Korean leader Kim Jong-il was sick. Dandong is one of the closest towns on the border to the secretive country, and was the obvious choice due mainly to the chances of a journalist entering the highly restricted and reclusive country at such short notice being practically impossible. They don't accept journalists at the best of times, let alone when their ‘dear leader', as he is officially known, is not well. Kim has led communist North Korea for 14 years and if he was dead, the potentially nuclear-capable country could quickly become a scary and somewhat horrifying scenario.My hope for the assignment was that maybe I could get pictures of North Korean soldiers on border patrols, or perhaps even people working in the fields - something that showed life on the ‘other side'.

A local contact told us of boats for hire about one hours drive north of Dandong. I thought ok, it would be something like a small fishing village where the locals occasionally subsidise their incomes by taking people for rides to see the secretive side of the river, but when we arrived we found a thriving, well organised tourism industry. There was a fleet of six large boats that took 20 people at a time, or a fleet of speedboats that took five at a time. You could go for 20 minutes or for over an hour, cruising along the Chinese side of the river photographing or filming North Koreans washing their clothes or themselves, riding bicycles, tending their crops, or just fishing as they tried to get any extra food to supplement what measly portions they were obviously receiving.

Myself, text journalist Chris Buckley and Reuters cameraman Johnnie boarded a boat and headed towards the small town of Qing Cheng which was once connected to China via a bridge that protrudes from both sides of the river but had it's middle portion blown-up 60 years ago - a symbolic reminder that this country is separated from the rest of the world.

The first amazing sight was a boat full of North Korean soldiers floating down the river. I thought for sure they would follow us, but most of them just waved and smiled. Mind you, thankfully, there was another boat between us and them, and they didn't really see us I am pretty sure.

The next thing that surprised me was the sight of maybe a hundred people either walking, riding bikes or on animal-drawn carts travelling along a road that hugged the banks of the river. This was where I managed to get a picture of a military officer riding a motorbike with who I presume was his wife and young child aboard. A rare sight indeed I am sure.

We then came across a building that extended out into the river, and where three men huddled inside. We could only just see them through a hole in a wall, and it certainly personified the sad state these people were in.

The finale of our trip produced probably my favourite image I have taken involving North Korea. I only just noticed her behind the tree - a female North Korean soldier on patrol along the border fence was desperately trying to stay out of sight. And what made the picture was the way in which she failed - she just couldn't resist taking a peek at us.

After we got back to the hotel and I had sent my pictures, I couldn't help but think how distressing the whole scene was. A whole tourism industry built on people being treated like zoo animals. There would be hundreds of tourists everyday riding in these boats, which even had signs aboard them saying you weren't allowed to give food to anybody, especially if they asked for it. No wonder the children threw rocks at them.

I just hope that my pictures make people aware and feel sympathetic to the North Korean people's situation, and ask that when perhaps one day you visit the lovely city of Dandong, you will just be satisfied with looking at North Korea from the Chinese side of the river.

A showcase of David's Gray images of the aftermath of the Sichuan earthquake are set to music in this audio slideshow.

David Gray recounts his experience covering the earthquake that devastated Sichuan province, China.

David Gray presents an audio slideshow on China's southwest region.

Well, we are still here. Invited as we were to cover this amazing event, we have been kept at the press centre located near Everest Base Camp for over one week now, and still we do not know the answers to a basic, important question  - Where is the Olympic torch now?

Frustrations are obviously still running high, and at 5200 Metres altitude, that frustration is unfortunately multiplied.

Sitting at breakfast this morning, the remaining foreign press contingent decided we would list the good things about our situation, rather than just dwell on the obvious annoyances. This is what we came up with:

1. The view......lets face it, it does not get much better than this.

2. The internet facilities.......the only reason why I am able to send my pictures, and now blogs, so easily is due to the excellent set up at the press centre. Plus, it allows us to watch repeats on YOU-TUBE of British comedies.

3. The food.....for make-shift kitchen facilities, the food is excellent, especially the dumplings.

4. The friendly staff who are trying to help.

But then we decided, it would only be fair, in order to uphold our roles as impartial observers, we would do a list of negatives as well:

1. Lack of information.....What's happening up that mountain, Please??

2. The Huts.......sooooooo cold at night.

3. Altitude.......even though we have been ok so far, you can still feel the weight of the altitude on your head.

4. No showers........been a week, hmmmmmmm, say no more.......

5. Toilet facilities.........don't even ask........

6. Fresh clothes.........yep, run out......well it has been 11 days....

7. Melting snow dripping through the roof.....right onto Mark's head in fact, funny from where we were sitting.

8. The uncertainty of not knowing anything about what is happening.......

But after all these points, positive or negative, we must always think of the people who are trying to achieve this amazing feat. They are stuck on a mountain where the weather is easily ten times worse then where we are, and the effects of altitude are of course far greater. As far as the Reuters team covering this event are concerned, it makes us appreciate their efforts even more watching from what is in comparison a ‘measly' height of  5200 Metres.

Day 8 - After travelling 4 days from Lhasa Airport, and spending 4 days at 5200 metres, we are all feeling the effects of altitude but mostly suffering from frustration at the lack of information about the Olympic torch. Mark Chisolm, Reuters Cameraman and Producer, Nick Mulvenney, Reuters Correspondent and myself travelled from Beijing on April 25 to Tibet to cover the Olympic torch's ascent of Mount Everest.       We are currently at a make-shift press centre located near Everest Base Camp. Facilities consist of an extremely good media centre, with amazingly fast internet, a press conference room, that doesn't provide the media with any information (but I will get onto that later), small basic cabins that offer fairly comfortable beds but are just plain freezing, a dining room with excellent food, and last but certainly not least, the toilet block. Oh wow!! I cannot even begin the try and find the words... so I will leave it at that.

Mountainmen Chisholm, Gray and Mulvenney.

The altitude is a major factor in everything we do. It affects each person differently. Some have a very low percentage of oxygen in their bloodstream, some have a very high heart-rate, some get high blood pressure, many get severe headaches, others stomach problems. But all get breathless after walking just 20 metres and all are very tired. But the effects of altitude are not consistent, and even somebody who has travelled frequently to and from high altitude react differently each time. So the fact that the three of us have managed to feel ok after our schedule of travelling from Beijing, situated at a height of just 50 metres above sea level, to Everest Base Camp at a height of 5200 metres in just 4 days, does make us feel like we have achieved something, even before we have produced any stories. But this is not to say we are in the clear. Acute altitude sickness can hit anytime, even once you are back at normal levels, so we are extremely wary of this achievement.

The days consist of walking around the 500 metre cordon we seem to have been restricted to. Chinese Border Police keep a watch on our moves from several vantage points along the road and surrounding hills. I like to watch the changing weather patterns on the peak of Everest, but you cannot keep photographing it every hour - the weather might change but its shape doesn't.

The nights are the toughest. The three of us share a small hut made of what looks like recycled paper shavings. Temperatures drop to around minus five degrees, down to maybe minus 15 with the wind factor, and the paper walls are just not thick enough to keep this cold out. But while I am freezing in my bed, all I can think about is how the teams on Everest must be feeling, camped on what some have called a ‘death zone'.

But the biggest frustration is the lack of information regarding the Olympic torch's whereabouts. The most basic questions like ‘where is it now' and even ‘how many people are in the team taking it to the top' are simply not being answered. The real shame is that all the good work that has been done regarding media facilities, especially the mobile phone coverage and internet, is being undermined by the lack of information.

The lack of information combined with the rigours of the altitude, freezing temperatures, absence of washing facilities and the lack of a confirmed depature date means that frustrations are high.. almost as high as the summit of Everest itself.
     
     

(Ed: Dave's turn at the helm today. He, Mark Chisolm [cameraman and producer] and Nick Mulvenney [correspondent] travelled from Beijing on April 25 to Tibet to cover the Olympic torch's ascent of Mount Everest.)

After travelling 4 days from Lhasa Airport, and spending 4 days at 5200 metres, we are all feeling the effects of high altitude but even more so, the frustrations regarding lack of information.

We are currently at a make-shift press centre located near Everest Base Camp. Facilities consist of an extremely good media centre, with amazingly fast internet, a press conference room, that doesn't provide the media with any information (but I will get onto that later), small basic cabins that offer fairly comfortable beds but are just plain freezing, a dining room with excellent food, and last but certainly not least, the toilet block. Oh wow!! I cannot even begin to try and find the words ... I will leave it at that.

The altitude is a major factor in everything we do. It affects each person differently. Some have a very low oxygen percentage in their bloodstream, some have a very high heart-rate, some get high blood pressure, many get severe headaches, others stomach problems. But all get breathless after walking just 20 metres, and all are very tired. But the effects of altitude are not consistent, and even somebody who has travelled frequently to and from high altitude react differently each time. So, the fact that the three of us have managed to feel OK after our schedule of travelling from Beijing, situated at a height of just 50 metres above sea level, to Everest Base Camp at a height of 5200 metres in just 4 days, does make us feel like we have achieved something, even before we have produced any stories (that's not true the pix, stories and video footage are fab - ed). But this is not to say we are in the clear. Acute altitude sickness can hit anytime, even once you are back at normal levels, so we are extremely wary of this achievement.

The days consist of walking around the 500-metre cordon we seem to have been restricted to. Chinese border police keep a watch on our moves from several vantage points along the road and surrounding hills. I like to watch the changing weather patterns on the peak of Everest, but you cannot keep photographing it every hour - the weather might change but its shape doesn't.

The nights are the toughest. The three of us share a small hut made of what looks like recycled paper shavings. Temperatures drop to around minus five degrees, down to maybe minus 15 with the wind factor, and the paper walls are just not thick enough to keep this cold out. But while I am freezing in my bed, all I can think about is how the teams on Everest must be feeling, camped on what some have called a ‘death zone'.

But getting back to what is easily the biggest frustration on this trip, the lack of information regarding the Olympic torch's whereabouts. The most basic questions like ‘Where is it now' and even ‘How many people are in the team taking it to the top' are simply not being answered. The real shame is that all the good work that has been done regarding media facilities, especially the mobile phone coverage and internet, is being undermined by the lack of information.

And with the combining factors of lack of information, high altitude, freezing temperatures, no washing facilities and no date of departure confirmed, frustrations are high ... almost as high as Everest's summit itself.

Picture: Our intrepid trio catching some rays.  

     Well........I don't believe it!!! It's happened. If you've read my last blog, ‘The Road West of Kangding' you know that I called that particular road ‘the worst road in the world'. Well....guess what....there is much worse.

     Travelling with Chris Buckley, Reuters Beijing-base correspondent, we flew to Chengdu in Sichuan Province in China's south-west to try and get into areas where we had heard that violent demonstrations regarding Tibet had occurred. The reports stated that buildings had been damaged, thousands of riot police and soliders had been deployed, hundreds of local Tibetans had been arrested and Buddhist temples were surrounded. So with Chinese Premier Wen Jiabao telling the world that such troubles were over less than a week after these reports, and there were no independent witnesses to verify this, we wanted to find out.

     We decided to travel on a local bus north-east from Chengdu to the city of Mianyang, from where we would decide what to do next. Looking back, we should have realised that the number of police roadblocks we saw, just going that far, was an indication of what we would encounter over the next few days.

     We found a local driver, and after staying just a few hours at a hotel (in case the local police became aware of our presence), we headed north. The roads out of town were wonderful. Slowly winding their way through the valley floors and then up into the mountains.

      We needed to speak to some local farmers and chose to stop for the night at a small rural township known as Baima, located around 250 kilometres north of Mianyang. Life was continuing pretty much normally for these lovely, very hospitable people. They showed us proudly around their homes, and told us we were expected for dinner at 7pm. I very quickly got our driver to take me 30 kilometres down the road to get a CDMA signal to file some pictures to the Singapore desk, but thankfully managed to make it back on time.

     The array of local dishes was spectacular. But it did come at a cost - the cost of consuming of 3 cups of local wine in less than one minute, and the singing of a song that both Chris and I knew after we were honoured with a local Tibetan welcoming song. The only song we both really knew was the Australian national anthem, (just a note, Chris has spent 10 years in China and sadly, I had to help him a little, tut tut Chris) but hopefully no recordings were made and that rendition will never be heard again.

     The next morning we got up, and it had been snowing. Around one foot of pristine, white snow blanketed the trees. Beautiful perhaps, buy not a good start when you have to travel on mountain roads that day. We had gone barely five kilometre when we had to get out and remove rocks from our path. The steep banks above the road could barely hold together at the best of times, and with the slowly melting snow adding weight to the soil, this was not exactly safe. The further we went, the more the road seemed to take on a menacing look, with places that just 24 hours earlier had seemed quite safe, now looking like they would give way and result in us tumbling into the valley some 400 metres below. But again, in hindsight, this was nothing.

     To get where we needed to go, we had to start going up into the mountains. And with a foot of snow in the valleys, what could we expect up there. Well, our questions were soon answered - two foot of snow and lots and lots of ice. Our inexperienced driver had to go back and get chains after we started sliding backwards - not enjoyable when u look over the edge of the road which now had a drop of some 600 metres.

      Slowly but surely we continued, through a harsh but extremely beautiful landscape of snow-covered trees and mountains. The treacherous conditions had taken their toll on numerous cars and buses, their engines and I suspect their brakes overheating, and a truck which had fallen on it's side and lost it's load over the edge (see picture).

    After 5 tedious hours, we had made it to the next town.

    We met up with our new driver, a man who proved himself irreplaceable time and time again, and started heading further north into Gansu Province. And this is where my new ‘world's worst road' (I will call it the WWR from now on for comparisons)  comes into the story. In order for us to get through the countless police and military roadblocks, we would have to travel on back-roads. This provided us with views of the most amazing rural landscapes, but these views came at a cost - our heads, our kidneys, the muscles in our arms and legs from holding on so tightly, but most of all, our sanity. The pot-holes this time were triple the size and a much much more often than the previous WWR. The police presence was at least ten times that of the previous WWR, meaning our ‘ducking down' skills had to be repeated more and more often the further we got into the troubled areas. But to top it all off, the whole experience lasted four times longer than the previous WWR trip. Total time in the car was nearly 36 hours, and when your driver snores for 4 of those hours barely 3 feet from your head, its not very enjoyable.

       Eventually, after much agonising and wondering if we would ever get to where we needed to be, we made it to the township of Zhuoni. Here we managed to talk to monks in a temple and I managed to take a few frames without disrupting their prayer session. The feeling was tense, as the military had only in the last day stopped surrounding the temple grounds. We hurridly left after we suspected that we were being watched, and made it into the car. I quickly sent 6 pictures so that in the event that we were caught, we would have something to show for our efforts.

      We drove further on down the road, and the roadblocks became more and more numerous. I counted at least 20, and on six occasions, the police stopped the car and asked the driver to step out. At one, a riot policeman even tapped on the window and put his face to the glass to see in. All Chris and I could do was lie down on the back seat and wait. As I said earlier, our driver proved to be amazing.

       We managed to go further into the troubled spots and I managed to photograph a burned-down school, riot police and soldiers on township streets, and another Buddhist monastery located near the township of Xiahe, where the most violent protests had occurred just a week earlier. We even very quickly stopped at a very small Tibetan village where the whole trip for me became worthwhile. Chris finally managed to find a villager that spoke Chinese, everyone spoke Tibetan, and after a few broad questions about the riots in Lhasa and surrounding areas and what he thought about them, Chris asked him what he thought of the Dalai Lama. This ordinary, hard-working farmer who toiled in the fields 12 hours-a-day, every day, said ‘The Dalai Lama is like a member of the family that can't come home'.

        So our trip down my new WWR was finally completed, after we went through yet another 5 or 6 roadblocks of course,  we checked into our hotel in Lanzhou and I laid out flat for what seemed like the first time in ages.

        Hopefully, this dusty, pot-hold riddled ‘track' in south-western China will be the final winner of my little WWR award otherwise I will have to broaden the parameters a little to perhaps the ‘Worst Road in the Universe'.......?? To do that, I would definitely have to check with Douglas Adams first I think.........

                                                                  
       PICTURE CAPTIONS:

 Pic1 -An elderly Tibetan woman dressed in traditional Qiang minority dress sits in her home in Baima Township

 Pic2 -  The township of Baima in the early morning after snowfall

 Pic3 - A truck that lost it's load on the treacherous icy road over the mountains

 Pic4 - Farming land near the Tibetan village on the outskirts of the township of Hezuo

 Pic5 - A young boy sits in a cart in a Tibetan village on the outskirts of the township of Hezuo

 Pic6 - Standing with friendly Monks in the Deer Long Temple on the outskirts of the township of Xiahe