We left Federovka aiming to head to Aksai (Aksay) to get our visa’s registered and get some money. The drive was easy and the scenery such a contrast to anything that we had seen in the last 4 years. Gone were the rolling mountains and lush green pastures of Europe and to a certain extent Russia. Instead wide flat plains continue until they meet the sky. They are slightly red with a sparse covering of reddish or gold grasses and very occasionally green scrub. Every so often the continuity of the horizon was interrupted with distant sand storms and occasionally the smoke from a scrub fire.
As we drove the steppe Eagles one of the symbols of Kazakhstan watched us with curiosity from their vantage points on telegraph poles, mounds or even the side of the road. Sometimes they seemed to escort us, hoping no doubt to profit from the disturbance that we would make on passing, thus scaring some little rodents out of their hiding places. Slightly larger than a rat these were golden in colour with long tails that were bushy at the very tip. We also saw a fox and a snake. The eagles seemed perfectly tourist saavy, staying still just long enough to get the camera out and taking off before a photo was possible.
There were moments though where the world around us seemed entirely empty and still. Betrayed only by the occasional tumble weed crossing the road in front of us.
Aksia (Aksay) was the perfect size. Big enough to have everything we needed and small enough that we did not get incredibly lost trying to find anything. In saying this though it was with some luck that we managed to find a place that would be able to register our visas. Alas, the visa man was not in his office, and after one of the girls in a nearby business had phoned him, he would not be in for some hours. Enthusiastic as we were to continue driving we decided to head toward Aktobe, a much larger town.
To reach Aktobe we needed to rejoin the M32. This meant travelling almost due south on a slightly smaller road to meet it. Here begins our initiation to Kazakhstan. We started down a road which ran out of hard top within a hundred meters of being on it. Feeling that we must have taken the wrong way, we turned back, reassessed and with a sigh acknowledged that it was the right way after all. It took us several hours to negotiate the 117km back to the motorway. The roads were so bad that in some areas vehicles that had gone before us had carved out tracks along the side of the road to drive on instead, and when these had become corrugated or potholed beyond comfort, another track had been started further out again. And so it was that we weaved our way down to the motorway, every now and again popping up onto the road ‘just to check’ that it hadn’t magically gotten better.
Once back on the M32 we made better ground. We were determined to reach Aktobe tonight but really wanted to have a proper dinner before hand. So we stopped on the side of the road and cooked up a spaghetti Bolognese feast!!! It did draw a lot of strange looks from the locals and truck drivers as they past us.
Just after starting again we passed a Mongol Rally car and flagged them down for a chat. The three lads from England were in their fourth week of the rally. They reckoned that they were one of the last cars, saying that the last few days they had various mechanical issues, and a couple of crazy nights with crazy Russians. It was nice to swap war stories, although theirs were so much better than ours. But it was getting dark and cold so we headed on.
Once back on the M32 and quite behind schedule we arrived in Aktobe somewhere around 9pm. Aktobe was nothing special according to the guide book, but we really like it. It was a well manicured, tidy city with a complimentary blend of old and new. We stayed at Hotel Aktobe, purely because it was the hotel we could find, but it was completely adequate.
The hotel that we were staying at did not register visa’s for non Russians, however they wrote down the instructions to give the taxi driver so we should know where to go to get them sorted. The OVIR or immigration police was a 10 minute cab ride away, and once in their office a sort of pandemonium ensued. The initial guard pointed us in the direction of one window where we collected the registration forms in Kazakh/Russian and then proceeded to accost the poor customers in the office to “help us fill in the form”, and “oops can we please borrow your pen” Eventually one guy after he had helped us as much as he could dragged us to the front of one of the queues where after speaking to the girl behind the counter we were urged to wait one moment. Not that we really had any choice, these visas are supposed to be registered within 5 days of arriving in Kazakhstan, otherwise there maybe fines or legal action on trying to leave.
We were finally given prime position at the window again and despite constant interruptions from an irate woman who could not seem to get her form filled out properly, we had our stamps and were finally legal.
Now we have set off from Aktobe, we are now heading south towards the Aral sea, and where the Aral sea once was. Our visas were sorted and we were driving on brand new road, we were elated. But when will we learn… things regarding roads are extremely transient. After a couple of hundred kilometres the beautiful surface ended, the road all but disappeared and we were back on the labyrinth of side tracks that ran alongside where the motorway should be.
Thank goodness our pelvic floor muscles are intact as these tracks are not all that smooth. The bumps were slow to dent our optimism so periodically we would pop alongside the motorway in the hopes that the surface was better. And it was like this that we continued for 4 or 5 hours.
Our only interruption was a couple of road workers who seeing that we were not from Kazakhstan had stopped us for a chat and hoped to bum a cigarette. They told us that the road would continue like this to Aral but from there to Almaty it was better.
Eventually as the sun was setting we pulled off our track and were forced to admit defeat. There was no way that we were going to make it to near Aral today. We were tired, a little snappy (well Duncan was anyway) and Hugo was making a strange clunking with lateral movements on the bumpy roads. Duncan thought it might be the bushes on the suspension… where is the bush mechanic when you need one – ha ha . Dunc climbed under and tried to tighten the bolts but realised that we need two 24 sockets to do the job and we only have one. Funnily enough we had two before we left London, but left one behind after saying, what do we need two for??
We jumped out of our car at our camping spot onto ground that is cracked with dryness. It does not appear to have seen much moisture in recent days, and any moisture that we poured on it (I think you know what I am talking about) quickly disappeared as if it was never there. Apart from the isolation, and the beautiful sunset, the really stunning thing was the scent. One of the little plants that grew across the steppe had a lavendery-like scent. What had been a strong hot wind during the day had died into a gentle fragrant breeze.
The days continued in much the same way as the day had finished. The steppe Eagles which had been absent the day before were back in abundance. As were small little birds that sat on the road playing chicken until hugo was virtually on top of them. I am sad to say that not all of them made it.
Finally finally finally we made it to Aral. Aral was once an extremely important fishing town whose glory days are long gone due to an executive decision in the 1970s to divert certain water bodies to cotton plantations. The devastating effect of this is the reduction of the Aral sea by quite a lot more than 50%. So there is no longer any water any where near Aral, and therefore no fishing. The harbour is dry and now a dumping ground for rubbish. Camel farming seems to be the predominant livelihood. Interestingly since the Aral sea has disappeared from Aral there has been an increase in TB and Hepatitis and there are signs entering the town to remind people to take their TB medication!
All this driving was thirsty work so it was necessary to top up Hugo’s tank and find ourselves some water. The central bazaar in Aral was near the central square and a hub of activity we stocked up on bread and water but were a little reluctant to purchase any of the meat that was sitting uncovered and un-refrigerated on the countertop. However in saying that I think that if we are going to want to eat meat in the future we may have to get past this idea, as our options will be limited… and just cook it… really really well.
It is hard to imagine what this town would have been like 40 – 50 years ago when it was in its prime. The buildings close to what would have been the water’s edge are white washed like you would expect from a fishing village on the British coast. The dryness is so undeniable that it is hard to fathom that some water is being diverted back into the Aral sea.
The friendliness of the people that we have met in Kazakhstan has been astonishing. While asking for directions at a local hotel the guy Dunc was speaking too wasn’t completely sure of what we wanted so instead of shaking his head and passing responsibility he called a friend on his phone to assist us. We were looking for the ship cemetery, the final resting place for the fishing vessels that once so capably provided the people here with food and a livelihood and now are collapsing rusted memories of their former selves located in what was once the Aral Sea.
Our guidebook had stated that recent map publications and some other guides have listed the ship cemetery as being quite far north of Aral, which was incorrect. The ship cemetery is in fact south west of Aral, so we needed to find the right road out. It was about a 45minute drive on a blue metal road which takes you to a gorgeous little village called Zhalangash, this village used to be a fishing village as well but now survives farming camels. It is a tiny village with a road through that if you follow (as we did) drives straight out onto the old sea bed, and not too much further you arrive along side the ships in the desert who are being watched over by the ships of the desert (and a couple of cows as well). The sea bed is gradually becoming covered with another sea of green and red grasses, giving the impression that the sea was never there. But between the sparse vegetation you can still see the shells that are now bleached white by the sun.
There used to be 11 ships here at the cemetery but they are slowly being torn apart trucked to China to be sold as scrap metal, so now there are only 4.
We left Aral and continued south and shortly after the motorway turned east and we passed the Baikonur Cosmodrome. It was from here the first man was launched into space. The name Baikonur is the name of a village that is hundreds of kilometres away in the middle of nowhere. When the Russians were going to launch a man into space they were required to declare the location to the Air Traffic Authorities. However not wanting the rest of the world to know where their space research centre was located they said it was somewhere else and the name has stuck ever since. It is not easy to visit the cosmodrome so we admired it from the outside.
A policeman with a complete set of gold teeth stopped us outside a small town not far from the Cosmodrome. With a sigh Gem started rifling through the box important stuff for the driving documentation. The policeman with one hand over the airconditioning vent, enjoying the refreshing breeze, saw Gem’s effort and with a blasé wave of the hand indicated not to bother. He spoke to us is Kazakh worked out where we were going and shook our hands and sent us on our way.
We stopped at the rather strange Korkut Ata Monument, another 57 or so kilometres from the Cosmodrome. This is a bizarre large monument to Korkut Ata who invented the kobyz, a famous Kazakh stringed instrument. Legend has it that the poor old chap (who lived in the 8th or 9th century dreamt as a young man that he would only live to age 40. Frightened by this he saddled up his camel and went in search of immortality, yet everywhere he went he discovered people digging his grave. He returned to the banks of the Syr Darya and sacrificed his poor camel, and using her skin made a musical instrument who’s sound was so beautiful that while he played it death could not touch him. However finally exhausted from playing he fell asleep and death in the form of a snake killed him. On the banks of the river behind this memorial is supposedly the spot where Korkut Ata died. It is a large, white, modern looking monument and a favourite amongst the local wedding parties, well we assumed so as we saw two while we were there. One of the brides was wearing traditional costume that as well as a pretty frilly ruffly white dressed consisted of an enormous pointed hat on her head.
We made it to Kyzlorda after dark, a momentous occasion as it meant that it was time to flip the map over to the other side. Yes we were half way-ish through Kazakhstan. The town of Kyzlorda is equally difficult to navigate after dark as others that we have been to. At the third petrol station looking for a hotel a young Kazakstan girl was called in who spoke English. She was unable to tell us where the hotel was but she and her boyfriend offered to show us the way. So following them we wove through the dark streets until we got stopped by the police!!! These ones were not as friendly but we were so lucky that this sweet stranger and her boyfriend stopped and walked back to advocate for us. So soon we were on our way again. We ended up at the hotel that the guidebook mentioned to be one of the most expensive in town. However we definitely could not choose to be picky at this hour of night so gritted our teeth when presented with the calculator demonstrating the cost of the room and went upstairs. The room was huge in golden hues, and as their was no internet we had to make do with Hugh Jackman as Wolverine for our evening entertainment, it was tough for Gem, watching him all muscley beating up the bad guys, but she suffered through it.
We have been happy with the roads for as the little Kazakh had said since passing Aral, they had been consistently average. Meaning there was more smooth asphalt than there were potholes.
Our next stop was 50 or so kilometres west of Turkistan. Here there are the remnants of a city from the Silk Road. From the distance Sauran appears on the horizon flickering and shimmering in the heat haze like a mirage leaving us to wonder whether it was really there or not. Turning off the road on a dirt track passing under a railway and any doubt is removed as the ancient ruins stand unyielding in front of us.
The city was once surrounded by 7 walls, and the wall that remains encloses 40ha. Hundreds of years of winds across the steppe have dumped sand and dust at the foot of the walls gradually building up so that now much of the wall and indeed the ruins of the city lie under the sand. There were several teams excavating and preserving while we walked around, it will probably be a different sort of tourist attraction in a few years. As we scuttled down the side of the wall and back to Hugo we ran into an Aussie from QLD (they are everywhere) and his Canadian wife. We traded hints and tips and learned a snippet about what was going on in the rest of the world.
We sighed with a little exasperation when we learned from the guide book that the Mausoleum that was next on our list to visit was not just outside of Turkestan as the map indicated but instead right in the middle. Although sometimes it makes us want to bang our head against the steering wheel when turn after turn we go the wrong direction it is equally distracting and amusing to stop every 200-300 meters to ask directions. If we are feeling brave we use our 50 word Russian vocabulary. If we get no where with this approach as so often happens we revert to pigeon English, and if that fails we get the picture in the guide book and point confusingly at it. Nine times out of ten we will get someone who will point us in ‘a’ direction. (We always ask someone further up to confirm as we have been sent on a wild goose chase before). However there is always someone who looks at us like we are nuts (can you blame them) and then walks away.
But I digress. We drove the wrong way through an energetic roadside bizarre where the road had almost as many cars as it had people, and appeared to be the only road in Kazakhstan that did not have a healthy respect for road rules. We turned around and following the ‘might is right’ rule allowed Hugo to gracefully escort us back the right way. We finally parked Hugo in some shade, and after admiring the beautiful drawings on Hugo’s dusty flanks we walked to the Mausoleum.
It is described by some as the most impressive building in Kazakhstan, and as we have a limited Kazakhstan experience I can neither confirm nor deny this. It’s full name is the Timurid Mausoleum of Khodja Ahmed Yassaui an important figure in Sufi Islam. The decoration of the building was never completed and has been left as is. The bits that have been decorated are stunning in their intricate mosaics and beautiful colours. His tomb inside the mausoleum is a place of pilgrimage for many Muslims. It was built as a multi-functional room and has everything from living quarters, to school, to burial tomb all under the one roof. In the front entrance it has a cauldron that weighs two tonnes and has a diameter of over 2m.
Suitably impressed we clambered into Hugo. Little did we realised what fateful events would unfold. As Hugo moved out of the carpark his left front wheel hit an enormous (yet unseen from the driver’s perspective) pothole, wrenching the steering wheel out of the drivers hands. No immediate effects were noted however after stopping for fuel the aircon was not quite as cold and the speedometer was no longer working. This was cause for consternation as we didn’t know how fast we were going anymore. An emergency call was put in to Julian, who gave us a couple of suggestions of which we tried on the side of the road and felt that if they didn’t work then we probably had a ‘little gremlin in the electrics somewhere’ and not to worry too much about it til we get to Almaty. So being the creatures of adaptation that we are we switched the sat nav to show speed and the odometer reading so at least we would have an idea of how far we were travelling. Reading this you might think that we just took it in our stride, but being as we had also had a little hiccup with the oil earlier in the day we were a little discouraged.
We turned off the road and followed a dirt track down, noticing an ominous clunking with every bump, and as the sun was kissing the golden horizon we were eating ratatouille on toast in the field. It was wonderful being alone in the field but for the lone shepherd on his horse that we occasionally spied silhouetted on the horizon.
After breakfast in our field we clunked rattled and slowly rolled back out onto the main road. Whilst driving on the bitumen Hugo felt and sounded fine, which made us feel that the issue was something to do with his suspension – but he was definitely still driveable.
So drive we did immediately after Shymkent the fields became luscious and green and the mountains loomed ahead and to the right of us. The stock (still wandering on the road, despite all the green pasture) looked fat and in some fields it appeared that crops of grain were being grown. It was in a small village here distracted by the beauty that Gem was stopped by the police for speeding. 74km in a 60 zone. The police were very friendly and had a good laugh with us, but quite clearly wanted us to pay a speeding fine. It seemed to do this that we had to backtrack 30km to a bank, pay the fine at the Bank and then come back and collect Gem’s driving licence that the Police would hold onto as collateral. This idea did not suit us at all. Nevermind that we did not want to backtrack through the mountain roads that we had just weaved through, we did not like leaving Gem’s drivers licence with these blokes. Neither party were able to clearly articulate what their concerns were despite the help of our Russian-English Dictionary, nor were we able to clearly ascertain how long the police would be in their spot on the side of the road before moving on elsewhere. Eventually after much laughing, miming and banter the Policeman grabbed our dictionary and looked up the word for ‘warning/caution’. With a twinkle in his eye he sternly shook his finger at Gemma and sent us on our way with drivers licence in hand!
Much of the rest of the drive was not worth mentioning. We had tentatively thought we would go and see the petroglyphs of Tamgaly – carvings that have been in place since the stone, bronze, iron age and even some added in the last century. Yet our trusty guide book described the road from the motorway to the carvings as 60km of dirt. Even though Hugo was travelling fine on a relatively smooth bitumen road we did not want to risk 120km detour until we had had him checked out. So regretfully we drove past the turn off and into Almaty. This drive did take us across the border into Kyrgystan – it was only for a few minutes and we didn’t get out of the car, but can we count this as another country??
Friends Julian and Gilly had given us the contact info of some of their good friends in Almaty Camila and Richard. Camila and Richard had kindly offered to host us while we were in town. So following some text message directions we battled the heavy Almaty traffic and found their apartment building.
We were shown up to the apartment and greeted by the wonderful couple (and Clare), it really was a blessing given how tired and frustrated we were. Camila and Richard were to attend a leaving bbq and had invited us to come along, so in a whirlwind we showered and put on some clean clothes before heading out. Robert a Dutch friend was returning to Amsterdam. The barbeque was held at the residence of the Dutch Ambassador to Kazakhstan, and the offered food and friendship was very much welcomed (not that we haven’t enjoyed spending just over 4 weeks in each other’s sole company). Gem drank wine and chatted with the girls and Dunc did what all Ozzie blokes do and drank beer and talked about the size of his engine with some other men before peeing on the lawn (see the photos of that one 
– Duncan will tell you it was a party game, and he won actually)
In case you are curious about all the references to apples it is because Kazakhstan is home to the apples. Yes the Alma (you’re seeing the connection now aren’t you?) used to be from the mountain region here and now although it is almost extinct (do apples become extinct?) there are a group of dedicated apple lovers who are bringing it back.
Furthermore an additional claim to fame is the tulip. Long ago we had our belief that tulips were from Amsterdam dispelled by a man with beautiful blue eyes who on the coves of Gallipoli assured us with no uncertainty that the tulip is from Turkey. Well the Kazakhs dispute this claiming that it’s many many wild varieties of tulip still found when spring is sprung is testament to the fact that the Tulip is from Kazakhstan. It found its way to Turkey on trading routes before being taken North after Constantinople was attacked. (Apologies if my history is out a little)
So with the idea of searching for the Alma apple we headed down town into the city centre, armed with our guide book and some local hints and tips. Camila and Richard were off at a Charity golf tournament, and the car was not able to be fixed until Monday.
The sun beat down on us as we walked, continuing our no rain streak,. It was fairly hot and we were grateful to reach the cool Panfilov Park. Here we saw the city’s war memorial for which the hype was justifiable. An enormous sculpture with soldiers bursting out of it, the conglomerate of figures forms the shape of the USSR. Stretching out in front of this is a solemn black memorial burning an eternal flame. The guide book had noted that this is a particular favourite spot for couples to come and have their wedding pictures, and we were not disappointed. An entrepreneur seeing a gap in the market has bought down a small cage filled with white doves that for a fee he will release to make your wedding photos all the more special.
Through the park stands the equally famous Ascension or Zenkov Cathedral, also known as the wooden cathedral. It is one of the oldest buildings in Almaty, despite the city being practically ruined by a massive earthquake at the beginning of last century. The reason it survived?? Apparently it is down to the construction of the church being completed without nails, just brackets were used. The outside is colourful in keeping with many of the orthodox churches we have visited. The inside is much more understated than other churches and this in combination with the beautiful natural light made it a very appealing place to be. A little less appealing was the screaming of the disgruntled babies from the mass baptism who were unimpressed at having water thrown at them.
Feeling hot and bothered from the walk we welcomed the coolness of The Green Bazaar in the middle of town. Surrounded by market stalls selling everything from stationary (there were a lot of stalls selling stationary) to your weight (yes for 20p you could stand on some scales) entering the bazaar bought some order to what seemed chaotic. The orderly rows within the bazaar were laden with fresh fruit and veg (including of course the giant alma) as well as dried fruit, pre made salads and pickles, and honey. As we wandered up and down the aisles we were enticed to try the fare with the broad smiles and encouragement of the sellers. At the far end of the market was the meat section. For the non Kazakh readers/speakers amongst us the aisles were headed with pictures of the animals so as not to confuse. Vegetarians beware!!!! Along these aisles any part of any animal from goat to camel (including horse) could be found. And there were a lot of parts that we both looked at wondering where on earth on the animal it came from.
We were spat out of the green bazaar through an aisle full of fake designer clothes, and walked on through the pedestrian mall admiring the many art sellers before entering the former soviet department store Tsum. Is there a more apt description of a building than the word ‘soviet’? Probably not so I wont bore you, but the top floor is the place to be should you be after any Kazakh handicraft and souvenirs.
Feeling the warm glow of post shopping energy we decided with little thought to walk back up the hill, a distance that seemed a lot greater on the way up than it did on the way down. We stopped to get some cake which was definitely for after dinner and had nothing to do with resting our weary legs.
Speaking of dinner, Camila must have had some sort of sixth sense. Knowing that she would be out all day at golf she had pre-prepared something for dinner – Lasagne – Gem was a very happy girl.
With excellent food, wine and company the day wrapped up. Camila, Richard and Clare entertained (and educated) us with their stories of central Asia. At one point the discussion turned to history and ‘to clarify’ certain points we all pulled out our reference books. (And by reference books I mean our various different guide books) (including Camila’s brilliant WC guide book). I have been to other countries where the demographics are described as a melting pot, but Kazakhstan seems to be a prime example of this. Smack bang in the middle of some massive empires, it has been invaded, defeated, and absorbed by so many different groups it is difficult to keep count. Perhaps it is this continuous fluidity of power shifting over the ages has greatly reinforced the seemingly fierce pride of being Kazakh, and the equally fierce friendliness and hospitality that we have experienced.
I would like to say that this was an indication of the direction of the evening, but the reference books were soon closed as another bottle of wine and then scotch came out J. Despite Clare’s plumbing dramas of the day it was not too difficult to convince her to have another, and before going to bed we made grand plans for the next couple of days.
Richard had headed into the office by the time we made our appearance on this Sunday morning. Our plans had been made with particular consideration for the days sport – we needed to be back for the cricket and the formula one.
With that in mind we headed to the State Museum. Quite small it contains some really good displays and replicas of fossils, bones and Kazkakh culture. Unfortunately for us there was limited information in English, but we were content to look at the taxidermy, models of burial mounds and prominent Kazakh buildings and of course the clothes and loot of the tomb of the Golden Man.
I fear that Australia’s demise in the Ashes may have been the direct doing of Clare and Camila, for as we discovered that night on one of the other tests they had created a ‘voodoo candle’ to further Englands efforts. Despite the voodoo candle being assaulted by many little Australian cocktail flags, and a clip on koala the damage was done and Australia conceded the Ashes. We didn’t do much better in the Formula one, so not a great day for the Aussies in the ex-pat Kazakh home J The winning team were extremely good sports, and fed us with bbq on shashlik wood, so maybe it is a good thing that Australia didn’t win. Another friend Sebastian handily joined us after his adventure racing near Astana, providing us with some more insights into the route that we were planning to take.
… And at this point in the tale our accident happened. While out sightseeing some plonker decided to pull out on us on a highway while we were doing 85kph and he was doing about 10kph. He didn’t look in his mirrors, he even freely told the police that, and we didn’t see him pull out, so we cleaned him up. And pretty seriously too. Hugo fully loaded with us in it is a steel tank of about 3.5 tonnes… this tends to make a bit of a mess of whatever it might hit. But he protected us brilliantly. I won’t go into specifics as its all a bit dismal and this is a happy blog. But just let it be said that the Kazakh police were brilliant, even taking us out for dinner. Camila and Richard were very helpful, and the mechanics fixed and repainted Hugo in record time. It just seriously hurt our bank account… but, things have to move on and we weren’t about to be beaten… we just now know that we NEED to find jobs as soon as we get home J
Anyway, we’d already booked Hugo in before this accident to have the suspension and speedo looked at, which the repair shop couldn’t do for us with the accident as it wasn’t accident related…so this morning was Hugo’s big day. Dunc was to take the car in to the mechanics while Gem updated some of the diary.
Apparently the trip into the mechanics turned into quite the epic. After much tyre kicking, examination and extensive discussion by two of the drivers (Seric and Victor) they decided that the original mechanic of choice would be too expensive so selected another one. Then in convoy they escorted Duncan there one in front and one behind. When Serric (in front) decided to change lanes, Victor (behind) would have also moved over in anticipation blocking the crazy traffic so Duncan could move over.
Fortunately for us Serric spoke very good English so once at the garage was able to translate both Duncan and the mechanics so everyone knew what was happening. When Dunc finally arrived back we were expecting to pick up the car later in the evening.
Dunc’s morning had been a little more productive than Gem’s as she had found some McLeods Daughters on TV as ‘background noise’ while she worked. After he discovered this Gem’s fate was sealed. She would definitely be going back to the garage in the evening to help Duncan
But first, Camila had organised us a Russian lesson with her teacher Nadezhda. Nadezhda later admitted that she had been nervous coming to teach us as she didn’t know what we would be like, hopefully she was quickly reassured. It was really fun learning the alphabet, numbers and some simple communication. We had already learned the Cyrillic alphabet but having someone to help with pronunciation was a confidence booster. Poor Dunc though, still can’t roll his ‘r’s.
So from Russian to the now open NP office for park permits, (we had tried earlier in the day and it was closed) to the car, where we discovered that Hugo was not ready. They thought that he might be ready in another hour, but being the social butterflies that we are we had dinner plans!
Dinner was at a place called Line Brew which was a favourite with Camila and her gang. Richard unfortunately was unable to join us as he had had to fly out in the early hours for work, but Clare and Sebastian came along as well as some new faces Malene, Mike and some others (whose faces are clear, but whose names, I am very sorry, I cannot remember) Gem had horse shashlik and Dunc had horse steak. Only the first mouthful was hard for Gem as she tried not to remember all her beloved horse friends, but once she had tasted the delicious bbq flavour, she found it was not so difficult. After dinner Camila, Sebastian and Clare took us to their local: Guns and Roses in the hope of showing us some more entertainment. It was a quiet night at the Gun, which in retrospect was probably a very good thing, but nonetheless firm plans were made for dancing tomorrow night.
Camila and Gemma woke up this morning both seriously regretting their plans for dancing and after a very quick conversation decided that a quiet night in would be just lovely.
Camila had golf practice in the morning, and in the afternoon we went with Victor to pick up Hugo.
Success – the speedo was now working, the undercar suspension and anti-roll thingies requiring attention had been attended to, and the car was super clean. We were finally ready!
The second thing we learned, well Gem learned, under the watchful eye of Camila is how to make pasta. The girls were cracking eggs one handed, kneading dough and generally cooking up a storm. I can hear many of you saying – “hmph pasta, who hasn’t made pasta?” but this is Gem we are talking about, her reputation in the kitchen needs no explanation. Clare arrived for dinner and she and Gem set about trying to make pasta longer than themselves, we got photographic evidence J
Where was Dunc while all this inspiring kitchen creativity was occurring? He was literally tearing his hair out at the astounding incompetence of the UK Banks – namely Lloyds – who are crap, useless and who’s own staff recommend we bank elsewhere. They just make you want to be violent!!!!!!
So with home made pasta, sauce and Moldovan wine we celebrated the end of our rather topsy-turvy stay in Almaty. We have made some good friends, and hope to be able to show them some WA hospitality sometime, and spent a lot of money. Oh well. We will just need to earn more. J When are we going to be able to do a trip like this again? Might as well do it right the first time.
It was with mixed emotions that we left Almaty this morning. We were excited to be going on with our journey but would miss the friends we had made. Before leaving we went to the office and met Zarina who had been a lifesaver on so many occasions for us by translating over the phone. We also wanted to thank Serrik, Parvil and Victor, the drivers who had put up with us and really helped us out a lot.
Helping us out one last time, Victor escorted us out of Almaty. Shortly after he left us we got pulled over by the police – again!. This time we had driven straight when we should have turned and an on the spot ‘fine’ was to be paid.
Before getting to the Charyn Canyon we stopped at the Falcon Museum. This was our opportunity to visit the museum, meet and possible hold a hunting eagle. Quite exciting. One of the guidebooks had suggested that we call ahead, which we hadn’t done, perhaps that would have made the difference.
We were greeted at the gate by a lady who showed us her hunting dogs, their puppies and her hunting eagles. She then took us around her orchard where she plied our arms and backpack full of all sorts of fruit. She spoke about the same amount of English as we spoke Russian but chattered easily too us in Russian as we walked around the orchard. She then took us to her one room museum where she pointed things out to us and continued to rattle on despite our ignorance. After some confusion regarding the entry fee of the museum and us not having small enough notes we gave her a hefty tip, and left a little bewildered without holding the eagle or seeing any demonstrations.
A little wrong turn here and a little correction there and we arrived at the Charyn Canyon, which is touted by some Kazakhs as the mini Grand Canyon. About 10km after turning off the road we came to the national park office where sat a ticket man and a park officer. After a little friendly chatter we discovered – unbeknownst to us – that we had just paid the park fee and the camping down the bottom fee, and the park officer climbed into the front of the car to escort us down the canyon. Happily Dunc engaged the 4WD, while Gem concertina-ed herself into the back seat which was definitely not prepared for passengers.
So with our breaths held we slowly advanced Hugo over the edge onto the steep descent into the Canyon. As neither of us have been to the Grand Canyon we had no expectations, and therefore found the jagged outcrops and craggy precipices awesome. The red colour dramatically contradicted the blue sky. Further on under Gem’s watchful eye Dunc navigated Hugo through a narrow passageway created by the collapse of one rock column against another. Granted on the first approach Gem was more focused in taking photos leaving a minor injury to the tent cover, but the second approach had Gem’s attention and we was casualty free.
We were astonished when we reached the far end of the canyon to find a swift, blue cold river at the bottom. Here the tones transformed, the red rock face became dark grey cliffs, and at the foot of these the soil must have been fertile enough to support grass and trees which overlooked the light blue water. The guide told us we could wash our face and hands in the water but that the current was too strong to swim, although after Gem experimentally stuck her feet in to cool them down, one look on her face told us there was no chance of swimming.
There were some very large bins around the camping site, so we took some time to give Huge’s a bit of a clean out. While we had the draw open Dunc thought that he would pump the tyres up a little. Ha – not going to happen as our tyre inflator’s broken – we had only used it once in London!!!
We had asked the guide whether we could fish in the river and he had said yes indicating that it contained some good sized fish. Feeling lucky we set up and waited, and, Phil!! We really need some fishing lessons – I really don’t remember it being this hard when we were kids. But this is the third or fourth time we have pulled out our rod this trip and nadda. Surely you take out line, add bait and wait, maybe re-cast a few times if it is slow…. That’s all we used to do to catch blowies off in WA anyway! It is a good thing we had sandwiches as a back up for dinner, otherwise it would have been some hungry little campers that went to bed that night.
It was a balmy night in the canyon, we had had the canvas up all night, so woke with the natural light to the sound of rushing water (funnily enough we went to sleep to the sound of rushing water). Getting a nice early start gave us the chance to investigate the top of the canyon a little before anyone else might arrive.
When the park guide did arrive, he pointed us in the direction of a short cut to where we were going, and for once this short cut actually went where it was supposed too. Although later Gem lost the gained time by taking us on a 160km detour!!!
When we did finally enter the Altyn Emel National Park in Basshi we stopped off at the National Park office for directions. The directions were extremely good in the form of a guide. Swapping broken English and Russian, she took us out to the singing sand dune.
I am sure that most people when they think of deserts they picture as I do that childhood image of sweeping sand dunes, with perhaps a two humped stick-figured camel and a palm tree oasis. The Kazakhstan deserts have been nothing like that (apart from the occasional camel. Instead they have been flat dry steppes often covered with low lying vegetation of some description, and with the occasional mountain range disrupting the horizon. Except for here in Altyn Emel. All of a sudden there is a mammoth sand dune (and a little lizard). It doesn’t merge with the landscape or gradually become… no it just is there (with a little lizard). One minute dry steppe with vegetation, the next minute a colossal sand dune looms in front of you (yup and the little lizard).
With the mercury pushing 40 the most sensible thing to do in this situation would be to climb the sand dune! So we did! Well Duncan did, Gem got ¾ of the way up and started sinking shin deep into the sand and thought that she would let Duncan see what was at the top. Duncan made it to the top but didn’t really see anything as the very moment he popped his head over the crest he was blasted with hot sandy wind from the other side of the dune. Walking back down we heard a low hum as the sand dune sang.
Not far from the sand dune is a real oasis. An explorer found this fresh water spring bubbling from the rocks and of course proclaimed that it must be an elixir of health that would cure all ailments. I have to say the only ailment of ours that it cured was our thirst. Perhaps had the day been cooler we might have been a little more cautious, but our guide said that the water was alright to drink, and it was coming straight out of a rock so we drank it. So far, no ill effects J
We were to camp back at the nearest Cordon, which as best we can determine is the name given to the private residences within the National Park. Some of these have little huts restaurants but we were fairly self sufficient this night. We were directed past the toilets, under the low slung electrical wire (held up by a broom), past the drying yaks hides to the apple orchard. It was here while Dunc cooked spaghetti that we experienced our first sand storm. Although it did not last particularly long we were reminded throughout dinner with the occasional piece of crunchy pasta J
So with the sun down and the dust storm abated we were alone in the national park, with the local dog for company. Feeling scandalous we filled our bucket with water and soap. We took it into the orchard and went and stood on the wooden bridge over the dry irrigation ditch. And, under the moonlight and apple trees we stripped off to have our bath and get rid of the sand that the singing sand dune had managed to get everywhere!!!
We picked up the guide (who had been staying within the cordon) and headed back to Basshi, before heading north toward the Russian border.
The drive today was like a summary of the landscapes of Kazakhstan, we saw more desolate steppes, lush green river valleys and bleak beautiful mountains.
The road had been fairly good for the day and as the sun was setting we found ourselves within 150km of Semey. If we made it to Semey tonight we would be back on schedule without having to worry about the extra day in Almaty. So we pushed on!!!
When will we learn!!!
The very instant a decision is made to push on after dark because we are almost there…everything changes. It always does – it always will – remember these words of wisdom.
No sooner than we had decided the road stopped being a road and became one large 150km long pothole impersonating a road extremely badly. When there was no one on the road, or someone coming towards us progress was slow. If we were fortunate enough to have a local overtake us it helped us learn where we could apply a little more acceleration and where we had to swerve quickly and slam on the brakes to avoid arriving in New Zealand via pothole.
I can hear you saying “why did we not pull over and camp?”…. Well we did consider this, however, Semey used to be called Semypalatinsk. The region southwest of it is called the Polygon which was used to test 340 underground (borehole and tunnel) shots and 116 atmospheric atomic/nuclear explosions from 1949 up until 1989. Unsurprisingly the area has experienced wide spread devastation resulting from this, from which it will not recover from a very long time, including incredible high rates of deformities and disease in the local population. So we didn’t camp.
But we did finally make it to Semey, and as the guide book map matched well with the road map, we found a hotel as well.
As we made it to Semey in good time we allowed ourselves some time to get organised in the morning, so when we finally made it to the border it was about 12:30.
This was the longest border crossing that we had so far endured. After collecting the mandatory docket from the first booth we queued to enter and were directed to drive into a big blue shed. Two blokes checked our docket and then waved us on. We did a three point turn and drove out of the big blue shed to park at a nearby building. Here was passport and customs. Passport control for leaving Kazakhstan was easy, but in the customs office we queued for around 40 minutes vying for attention from the clerks who ignored our existence and instead focused on the bolshie Russian truck drivers. After a while Dunc muscled his way in, only to be given a couple of forms to fill out. And pointed in the direction of another office outside. 40 minutes for that!!!
Finally we were done with the Kazakh side of the border and found ourselves in a sandpit in border land waiting to be let into the Russian side. This waiting process for admission took several hours, and then for seemingly no reason at all they let us through. The Russian passport control was a tiny little office with two people trying to deal with the influx of people. Having already done a Russian border we knew that we needed an entry/exit card to complete, and we could see other people completing them – we just couldn’t see where to pick up the cards. Then we realised, we had to queue at the passport desk, have them examine our passports, give us the cards, take them away and fill them out, re- join the queue, have our passports examined again, everything stamped and then we were done. I think this system would benefit from a little LEAN thinking.
Russian customs was relatively quick and painless, and in total we spent 6 hours crossing the border.
So with the time difference and the extremely cautious driving (being back in Russia and all) we arrived in Rubstovsk a little after 8.
Rubstovsk was a really interesting experience! We quickly found ourselves at the train station and after asking in broken Russian for a hotel, a taxi driver offered to show us to one. So following him we quickly entered a typical grid pattern street layout typical of the Soviets, at the centre of which was a massive square/parade ground. Surrounding this square were concrete buildings whose facades had seen better days. At one end of the square loomed an enormous Lenin statue honoured by fresh flowers laid beneath him.
We were waved in the direction of one of the hotel and found ourselves stepping back in time by about 50 years. The hotel did not look like it had changed since the Lenin’s day – literally – not a coat of paint, not a new floor tile, not a bit of hot water plumbing, or rewiring to conform with health and safety standards. It was quite expensive and when we arrived at our room we realised we were paying for square meterage. Our ‘room’ was an apartment of much the same size as our place in Bermonsdey. The furniture was as old and ignored of as the rest of the building. Initially we were irked at the negative value for money we were receiving, but then we just could not help but laugh – the whole building was stuck in time and the whole experience was surreal.
The difference after we crossed into Siberian Russia was apparent almost immediately. Gone were the ramshackle, monotone country villages that we had seen in Russia before entering Kazakhstan. Instead the villages were collections of pretty intricately carved wooden cottages. Even those that looked less affluent were well maintained and appeared cared for. Of course by saying this I don’t mean to say that those in western Russia were not cared for or loved, but that for some reason a contrast between them exists.
The contrast was not just in the villages, the landscape had changed – mountains, rivers, valleys and thick forests.
As the road cut through one of these forests we came upon a row of shashlik-ers. So we stopped sat out in the sun and had freshly cooked shashlik. I am in love with the shashlik. I think they use a particular type of wood which helps give it the flavour but it’s so good.
Not knowing what we would be experiencing we stocked up in a town called Bishk. This was a momentous occasion because finally after weeks of searching Gem found a hat that she liked. So not only were we headed into the Mongolian wilderness with our fridge and food box full but Gem has a hat to keep off that desert sun.
Another difference that we noticed was that in western Russia travelling down to Kazakhstan we saw very very few hotels. But in this region they were everywhere. So we thought to treat ourselves and found a nice secure hotel near the river in a town called Maajma.
It was a Sunday night so there was very little happening in Maajma however we arrived with plenty of time to walk around the town and down by the river. There had been a little bit of rain, and now the mountains and town were divided from the sky by a brilliant full rainbow. At first glance the gardens appeared overgrown and chaotic but closer appraisal showed gardens abundant in seasonal fruit and vegetables. One of the more orderly gardens near the hotel was growing what we are sure are the worlds biggest cabbages.
There were no restaurants open on Sunday night so we grabbed some cheese, crackers and tucked into some Moldovan wine which we had bought in Almaty – loving the Moldovan wine, add it to the list of places to go next time.
After the treat that yesterday had given us we were looking forward to what the rest of the Russia would have in store. It was almost as if we could be back in Europe. An extremely good quality road showed us the way alongside a river through the mountains. The leaves of the birch trees were just starting to turn golden. In spite of the occasional rain shower it was beautiful.
Eventually we crossed the river and left it, but continued to wind through the mountains and up into them. After one particularly long climb we got to the top an altitude of about 1800m. At the top there were joggers doing altitude training, people selling souvenirs and toilets. So we stopped to stretch our legs and were alarmed to find that Hugo was bubbling. All of his warning lights were fine but there was definite bubbling coming from his engine fluids. A good warning for Gem to take it a little easier on the hills from how on.
Not long after we rejoined another river and stopped for sandwiches. Very occasionally through the forest on the other side of the river we would catch glimpse of some cantering horse.
We left the river and continued on. We stopped and chatted to two Mongol Rally drivers Aqib and Franta who were having a pit stop. They were hoping to reach the border and possibly cross today so after tailing a much more sedate Hugo, overtook in their little Suzuki and disappeared.
We continued at much the same altitude and soon we caught glimpses of the Altai mountains that border Russia, Mongolia and China. Some of their peaks are over 4000 meters and are covered in snow. Still climbing the scenery gradually changed and lost is faux-Alps look becoming more like the severe exposed mountains that we had seen in Kazakhstan. The pine trees and green associated with them disappeared to be replaced with the green-red foliage of low lying vegetation.
Finally we arrived at Tashkent – the border town. We thought we would try and cross but on investigating found that the border was closed. Aqib and Franta who had seen us drive by came to meet us, a quick mutual agreement that it would be nice to camp together and we headed up the mountain above Tashkent.
The temperature dropped rapidly but dinner, companionship, wine and a little vodka was good (for all but Franta who had an upset belly). Camped at 2200m we had a beautiful view of the sunset over the mountains and the moon rise over the village.
Next we cross into Mongolia!
Oh, and there are like 6 new galleries added too.
