Original subtitles

THE JOURNEY TO KAFIRISTAN

Sils, February, 1940

This book will give readers little joy.

I t will not even comfort or upli ft them, as sad books are often inclined to do.

Yes, this book is about being on the wrong track,

and its subject is hopelessness.

And i f a writer has no other intention

than to arrouse the participation of his readers,

then that intention is surely not attainable here,

because we can only hope for sympathy and understanding

when our failures are obvious, our setbacks bravely secured

and our sufferings the inevitable consequences of such reasonable causes.

When we are sometimes happy for no reason at all,

then in no way should we be unhappy in the same way.

In harsh times like ours today it must be easy for everyone to choose

the right enemy and fate which befit thei r strengths.

London, March 1939

Zurich, a private hospital

Hello.

Are you a member of our society?

Only members are allowed access to the stack room.

My name is Ella Maillart.

My greatest wish is to be admitted to the Royal Geographical Society.

Ella Maillart...

Didn't you drive across Tibet from Peking with Peter Fleming? - Yes.

"Forbidden Journey, " I've read it.

I'm preparing a new journey to the Hindu Kush,

to a tribe of nomads in the mountains, the Kafi r.

I'm looking for maps on that region north of Kabul.

You've come just in time. All the archives are being packed

and stored in the country due to the danger of war.

Slight fever, rapid pulse...

Nervous exhaustion.

Further hospitalization necessary.

Military maps from the 19th century.

I'm actually not supposed to show them to you...

You may trace this.

Kafi ristan...

I t's just a white spot.

"Terra incognita, " one of the last unexplored territories.

Withdrawal has terminated.

I wrote to Ella Maillart in London.

She's taking me with her on her journey.

Simplon Pass, 6 June 1939

Four years ago, I traveled with Peter Fleming to Kashmi r and Tibet,

just the two of us, like we're doing now.

We had a few fixed rules.

Here, I've written them down.

Rule number one:

Look for the campsight by daylight.

Rule number two: Eat a warm meal every day.

Rule number three: Keep no secrets on the journey.

What do you mean by that? "No secrets. "

I mean no feelings.

No false feelings.

Peter and I pretended to be a married couple.

Feelings are dangerous on a long journey.

They cause confusion.

So you think we should pretend to be a married couple.

We already have the wedding coach.

I've got something planned, too.

I'm going to write.

Write... to forget.

Ella, why, of all places, do you want to go to this valley?

Few people have traveled there.

I t's not easily accessible.

I t's in a wild, high mountain region with lots of ravines.

Kafi ristan...

A name like in a fai ry tale.

I t means: "land of the non-believers, "

because it fi rst became Islamic at the end of the 19th century.

Today it is called Nuristan, "land of light. "

The research report from Dr. Herrlich.

He was the last person to undertake an expedition to Kafi ristan.

I visited him in Berlin. An oddball.

He's interested in strange things.

Many of the Kafi rs are blond and blue-eyed.

They don't sit on the floor like the other inhabitants, but on stools.

Herrlich believes that after the great deluge

an original Aryan people withdrew into the Himalayas.

He's trying to prove that the Kafi rs are those people.

He even gave me a device to measure skulls.

Quite a monstrosity.

You're going to measure people?

Dr. Herrlich is an ethnologist, a colleague.

He asked me to send him as much data as possible.

You can start right away with your research.

I'm an Aryan.

12...

121/2...

18.

No secrets.

Rule number three.

In the Balkans

Why are you stopping? Let's continue.

I need a break. My Ford needs a break.

We're in the majority. Two against one.

A Rollei flex, 6x6. A beauti ful camera.

When did you start with it?

In 1933, in Berlin.

My mother didn't send me any more money, because she was afraid

I'd spend it on morphine.

So I began to do photo reports.

I drove to Spain with Marianne Breslauer.

She took the pictures, and I wrote the texts.

When we returned, we weren't allowed to print her photos anymore,

because she was a Jew.

That's how everything began.

What do you mean?

My troubles...

with Erika,

with my mother,

with that poison.

Turkey...

Another one of those neutral countries.

In countries like those, you don't know what role the other is playing.

Anything is possible.

And you?

What role are you playing, Madame?

Or should I say "Monsieur?"

I play the role that suits me, Ella.

And you?

I see...

I observe the others.

I t's a kind of work from a distance...

I don't want to take part. I want something to remain for me.

This is my fi fth journey to the Orient now.

And each journey leads me closer to myself.

And you,

you waste your time with your disguises.

Stop preaching, big brother.

I want to take part in everything. I accept every adventure.

You'll see, Ella.

In the end, we'll accept anything

just to get away from the real danger in Europe.

You, too, are on flight. Don't fool yourself.

My "flight" as you call it

is my only escape,

a step toward a career.

I'm not one of those Schwarzenbachs, von Willes, von Bismarcks, like you.

And what are you running away from?

Your rich parents?

Your race horse? Your house in Sils?

Your fine leftist friends? Or your diplomat husband?

From the Russians, the Germans, or what do I know? - Yes, Ella.

What do you know?

I t is becoming more di fficult to remember.

The memories I used to hold far from me... I banned them.

I wanted to ban myself. No exile was solitude enough for me.

No spot on earth where the wind does not find access?

Where no paths cross, no road leads home?

I had a dream.

I saw you lying on the floor, curled up, bloodless.

Like a dying dog.

I stood above you, kicked you, screamed at you.

"Can't you talk? Why don't you answer me?"

I was sure you'd talk, i f I hurt you badly enough.

Then we could put everything right.

I slapped your rigid face.

Then I kicked you so hard that my ankle ached afterwards.

I think I'd rather kill you

instead of enduring you as the physical wreck you were in my dream.

From there, within 6 days and 7 nights, one reaches Ottavia.

I will tell you now

what Ottavia is like, the spider's web city.

There is a precipice between two mountains.

The city lies across the void

and is fastened to both mountain ridges with ropes and chains and footbridges.

One walks across the wooden planks, being careful not to step in the gaps,

or one holds on tight to that hanf netting.

Below, there are hundreds and hundreds of meters of nothing.

Just a couple of clouds drawing in. Further below, one discerns the ravine.

The Turkish border, the Black Sea

Where are you going? - To Persia.

Alone?

No, my husband is waiting for me in Teheran.

Taking photos is my profession.

I'm a journalist. I need the camera.

I'm the wi fe of the French envoy in Teheran. With diplomatic status!

This applies to my camera, too.

Do not dare to prevent me from continuing our journey.

In three days, we'll be in Trabzon.

The roads are so bad that we'll even gain time by taking the ship.

How far do you wish to have your cabin? - Trabzon.

Your name? - Ella Maillart, from Geneva.

Here is the key.

Upper deck, cabin number 3.

Here.

Your driver can spend the night on the'tween-deck.

No, two cabins in the fi rst class.

Annemarie Schwarzenbach, from Zurich.

One had to remember to go back, step by step.

Then one would probably find the beginning again.

One had to conjure up names, call up spi rits,

rouse cities from sleep. One had to send out the trumpet blowers

before the walls and gates of Baghdad, Jericho, Hama, Bei rut,

Aleppo, Lattakieh, Jerusalem.

The world is so large. These political borders are absurd.

All the restrictions and reservations against other nations.

I'm an ethnologist, and women, I think, are more tolerant anyway.

I wish I had more freedom to travel.

But Madame, there are certainly other di fferences.

Have you visited the photo collection in our anthropological institute in Berlin?

Have you viewed the heads of the Mongolians and the Hottentots?

And seen that particular hook nose?

And that lady there? One doesn't know where she belongs.

That is Dr. Clarac-Schwarzenbach, my travel companion.

Good evening.

An amusing pack here on this ship.

Welcome to the Reich, dear lady.

Fi rstly, to Neptune's Reich.

But Switzerland has also been selected for a 1,000-year Reich.

You know what, Monsieur? Do not rely on Switzerland.

I t has so many lovers and so many financiers.

A single lover for 1,000 years

will hardly suffice.

Don't cry for love lost.

There's more than just one lover.

There are so many in this world.

I love everyone who pleases me.

Such a nice little lady.

But business is business. Nothing functions without it.

I t doesn't matter i f you're German. You want something.

I want something.

No, it's not just for that reason.

I can't put up anymore, you understand?

Why is one born at a time that one wants to run far away from?

This restlessness inside...

Can politics be a drug, too?

Are you coming by way of Istanbul? Are you a Jew?

What does that matter?

And our business?

I am interested in nomadic tribes.

In a sense, we're all nomads, never anywhere for a longer period of time.

Constant movement is perhaps the original form of human li fe.

Quite an interesting theory.

The constant conquest of new space. A good idea.

I see more the human aspects, the simple li fe.

Li fe is a matter for women. Right. We'll leave bloodless science to men.

Dr. Schwarzenbach can tell us something about women, something quite special.

What's keeping her?

Yes, well...

I'll go look for her. Excuse me.

Annemarie.

Annemarie! What have you done?

What have you done?

Near Mount Ararat

The women's chambers are still preserved.

The men in the Orient have always locked away thei r women well. I'll go and see.

Jaubert, Napoleon's ambassador, is said to have hidden here. What was he after?

Ella!

An animal... or a human being with long claws.

Sit down.

We'll have to disinfect it.

Very near here is the Ark,

Noah's Ark...

No, that wasn't a ship...

You know... that was a subterranean place.

Near Mount Judi...

...closed from the outside...

...with secret passages...

...inhabited by the most beauti ful people and animals in the world...

Why can't I get in there?

I t's so cramped...

and hot...

Don't touch me!

Don't touch me! ... I don't want anybody!

Leave me in peace!

Sleep now.

Sleep.

We'll soon be at the border.

What border?

I t only exists on some maps.

By the way, I want to cross every border...

With you.

We've already crossed our borders.

You cannot enter the country. Turn around.

We have a letter of reference from Teheran.

I t could be forged, too.

Send a telegraph to Teheran. Or you'll be in trouble.

Dr. Schwarzenbach has diplomatic status.

But that will take time.

I f you want to wait that long... Go ahead.

You know, when I was with Peter in Tibet, in the desert...

we washed ourselves with sand to save water.

The Bedouins, too, wash thei r dead with sand.

In any case, it doesn't hurt you.

But there's no sand here.

Perhaps there's alcohol.

For disinfection, of course.

Lady... are you feeling well?

Apart from waiting and the bedbug bites...

I need some alcohol for disinfection.

There are no bedbugs here.

And no alcohol either.

You keep smuggled goods for yourself and sell them. - No, no!

You've got other things, too, don't you?

Your outpost certainly lies on the "Route of a Thousand Dreams. "

I've heard that Persians love classical literature.

Later... when it is dark.

That's how I thought it would be...

The borders...

The border crossing has to be inside...

Not on the map.

Zora lies beyond six rivers and three mountain ranges,

a city that cannot be forgotten once it has been seen.

But not because it leaves

an unusual image in mind like other memorable cities.

Zora has the character of remaining in one's memory,

with its rows of streets and houses along the streets

and doors and windows, although it has no particular attractions

or rarities to show.

I ts secret is the kind where the eye glides across figures

which follow one another like in a musical score

in which no note may be changed or exchanged.

My book shall be called "Death in Persia. "

There are loads of graves out there.

Buried by the desert.

Women are only secretly allowed to pray there, to remember.

Death is a matter for men in Islam. Paradise, too, of course.

Don't infect me with your sadness.

You know my paradise?

I t lies at an altitude of 2,000 meters, north of Teheran,

the Lahr Valley by holy Mount Demavand.

Of course, it can't be reached by car.

Driving to paradise in a Ford... Only you can come up with that.

Muslims believe the worst thing is to die far away from home.

Then only the holy grave in Qum or Mashad can help.

There you have to be carried into paradise.

I almost killed myself four years ago. You know I married Claude then,

at the French legation in Teheran.

At that time, I thought...

men are such outlandish creatures, and I'm simply

not amusing enough.

No, you really aren't.

I'm just not a jaunty young man with a racing boat

and a pilot's license.

You only look like it, almost.

Everyone looked that way! - Almost everyone.

Everyone!

Erika and Maud Thyssen,

Pamela, Clai re Waldorf and...

Mopsa Sternheim.

Many are now braiding thei r hai r

and dying it blond.

French Embassy in Teheran

Mid-July

Cholera has broken out in the east.

The road to Mashad is closed.

What now?

Where is your husband?

Claude is in Bei rut for negotiations.

The Arabian League should pass a resolution against Hitler.

Let's go outside.

These gardens in the Orient are a real wonder.

I t is called "fi rdaws" and "janna" in the Koran.

Heavenly inebriation.

But instead of the celestial houris,

you meet only officers and thei r wives here, from every country.

Heavenly inebriation...

The fortress of Alamut is quite nearby.

You know the legend... Hasan ibn al-Sabbah,

the old man of the mountain and his assassins.

They, too, camped in the Garden of Paradise

before they were sent down to kill.

Want to go up the mountain with me?

The assassins...

Murderers and drugs.

Know what, Ella...

I have the feeling all the legends are coming true.

I feel too weak.

I'm not going with you.

Dr. Clarac-Schwarzenbach, Zurich, Mrs. Ella Maillart, Geneva.

Heil Hitler!

Good evening. - Good evening. Thank you for your invitation.

Good evening. This way, please.

Then I want silk stockings and perfume from Chanel.

You can't get those things in Berlin anymore, only in films.

Emma Goring... - Be quiet!

The emigrants have taken everything with them. - Then...

we'll have to conquer France.

For the fai rer sex!

Let's forget those vile politics

for the sake of our ladies.

Ladies and gentlemen, relax. Make yourselves at home.

Yes, si r. Heil Hitler!

His excellency, the Turkish ambassador and his daughter Jale.

Make yourselves at home. This applies to our Turkish friends, as well.

Thank you. - This way, please.

What are you doing, Annemarie?

I'm waiting.

But not for the last rites?

Yes.

Don't make a scandal, do you hear?

I'm going to the fortress of Alamut with Herr Lentz, the German ambassador's son.

There must be a man of authority present.

Otherwise I can't get past the barriers.

Oh really?

A man with authority.

I have permission to continue traveling and the vaccination papers.

Annemarie!

You gave me power over you. I'll use it now. Come on!

You have no more business here.

Jale has returned to Istanbul. She is very ill.

And Alamut?

The hashish eaters?

The garden?

There is only a water hole.

A big hole in the stone. Nothing else.

Near Demavand

You have lost your tongue, Annemarie?

You haven't opened your mouth since we left Teheran. - Yes...

I have lost my tongue.

Don't you want to awaken from your stupor?

No, Ella. I don't want to.

You're sick!

Why did I ever bring you with me?

I can tell you why.

Because you want to make a career.

Because you want to command... over me, too.

You love power, don't you?

You got along well with the Germans in Teheran, didn't you?

I only love impotence,

an impotence like love.

Then conceal yourself under a wrap like all the women here.

The praise of impotence!

Ella?

Are you lord over yourself?

Hey there!

Over here!

Thank you.

I can't, but...

Like this...

And then cut...

And then... sew.

For you.

Geneva,

Teheran,

Kabul.

Erika... Annemarie...

Klaus.

A tuft of hai r, and you will know the answer.

Coral... I could like you well.

Silk... I'm afflicted.

Paper...

this is how I belong to you.

While I started to decipher secret inscriptions,

to read tracks and to give new names to my discoveries,

it seemed to me that the understanding of human language had been lost.

I'm beginning to understand that my language may not be understood!

I don't want an audience. My songs shall dri ft away.

No oracles shall answer me.

The smoke of my sacri fice shall not rise.

No more sacri fices, no altars, no hymns.

Continue!

Thank you.

The mileage recorder is broken. - But our watches are still working.

"Time has flown past me. "

How nice it would be i f I could say that.

The big phoenix sits up there.

With one eye, he stares into the past, and with the other, into the future.

The Valley of Good Fortune is there... my valley.

Kafi ristan is a valley like this. I'll take you there.

Border of Afghanistan, end of July 1939

80 miles towards the northwest wind, one reaches the city of Eufemia,

where traders from seven nations come together

at every solstice, day and night.

One does not only go to Eufemia to buy and sell,

but also because at night around the marketplace,

while crouching on sacks or lying on carpets,

with each word that one says, like "wolf, " "sister, " "hidden treasure, "

"fight, " "scabies, " "lovers, "

someone tells his story about wolves, sisters, treasures,

scabies, lovers and fights.

A new day is coming.

You'll see...

You can rest at the Hackins'camp.

From there it's not far to Kafi ristan.

Archaeologists'camp

near Kabul, 1 September 1939

Hello, Joseph Hackin.

Ella Maillart. - So you're Ella Maillart.

I admi re your courage, traveling through these countries as a woman.

I've read all your books. Wonderful. Welcome.

And welcome to you. Joseph Hackin. - Annemarie Schwarzenbach.

We were expecting you sooner. - There were problems with our papers.

We had a number of breakdowns, too, but Annemarie is a good mechanic.

We could use practical people now. May I introduce my wi fe Ria.

Annemarie... - Schwarzenbach. Hello. - Hello.

And Ella Maillart. - Welcome. - Hello.

We have to sort and stow away our excavation tools.

We're finished with our work here.

Not enti rely of our own accord. - What do you mean?

Oh, that's right... You couldn't have known.

They announced it on the radio this morning.

The Germans have marched into Poland.

So that means war.

I t was to be expected.

Thank you.

On the radio they said that France and England

have set an ultimatum until 3 September.

What will the Germans do? Will they retreat?

I don't think so. - We must think about

what it means for our expedition and for each and everyone of us.

The government of Afghanistan

has forbidden foreigners to move freely in the country.

Annemarie, stay here.

I've talked with the Hackins and the others.

I t seems impossible to travel further because of the war.

Whenever I see the stars, I'm reminded of my childhood.

I used to lie on my back in the garden

and try to draw lines between them

and to invent new shapes.

Do you see the three stars there on a straight line?

Cassiopeia...

Those are my favorite stars.

I always begin there. I f you look closely, they aren't in a straight line.

I've always wondered what that little deviation might mean.

Our journey was the deviation.

But we have to go back home, Ella.

We have to be useful.

Politics is not the li fe, not the li fe I mean.

Come with me to India. Don't leave me.

Don't you think you could be useful in Geneva?

I don't want to be useful, and I won't let myself be used.

What i f you've been turning in the wheel...

without noticing it?

Ella...

I've received some news from Teheran.

Jale is dead.

The ultimatum has expi red.

The Empi re has declared war on Germany.

Then we can't stay here.

We'll have to pack quickly and save our work.

How I would have loved to go to Kafi ristan.

I t now seems like the land of my dreams which I will never reach.

Didier is returning to France.

And Peter to Germany.

The draftees have to return to the Reich.

What are Annemarie's plans? Have you seen her today?

She's probably still sleeping. She didn't feel well yesterday.

And you? What are your plans?

This has surely come as a surprise to you.

I'm thinking of India.

I have contacts at the Royal Geographical Society.

Annemarie...

Ria!

This is the end of our journey.

You have to go your way alone now.

I give you back the power.

Whatever you say, I didn't have any power over you.

For me, it's the end of the journey.

But you're going to India.

Ella...

I hope you'll find what you're looking for.

You'll get to Kafiristan.

I know you will.

You amaze me, Ella.

I don't understand why you love me.

Thank you.

Kundus, November 1939

Whatever way I went, whichever I avoided,

ended here in this valley

from which there is no way out and which is therefore similar to death

and must be neighboring the fields of angels.

You may, in your thoughtless manner, call it the "Valley of Good Fortune, "

but you know it is "the valley of the end of the world. "

Here you must turn back. You are at the end.

But then help is very close by. Turn back.

At year's end, Annemarie Schwarzenbach goes through the Khyber Pass to India.

She meets Ella for the last time in Mandu.

She travels from Bombay by ship to Genoa, arriving on 1 February 1940.

Ella Maillart remains in India for six years with a guru

and does not return to Europe until World War II has ended.

She settles in a Swiss mountain village and dies there at the age of 94.

A. Schwarzenbach follows the tracks of Erika and Klaus Mann to America.

She begins to take drugs again and is locked away

in a psychiatric clinic in New York. Only with great effort can she escape.

Her family sends her to the Congo for a year.

When she returns to accept a job as a correspondent,

she has a fatal bicycle accident and dies at the age of 34.

Her mother destroys a large part of her manuscripts and letters.

Subtitles John R. Middleton

Film und Video Untertitelung Gerhard Lehmann AG