Bamboo Odyssey » Uncategorized | Bamboo Odyssey

Kawkareik to Kinpun

Jules — Thu, 06 Mar 2014 09:56:03 +0000

We were bemused and lost as we rolled into Kawkareik. Foreigners are not allowed to camp in Myanmar and instead must stay at foreigner licensed hotels or guest houses. As a cycle tourist this means ensuring there actually is legal accommodation within a day’s cycling distance. Unlike our previous months on the road, if we become tired or sore we can not choose to stop, relax and…..drink beer. Beer is plentiful in Myanmar, and well deserved at the end of each hot day, but we have to make our next guesthouse. We are aware of cyclists forced to take transport by the police when accommodation is not within reach. We also had to alter our route, due to restricted areas, lack of permits and red tape. We became resigned to the fact we would need to hop on buses to ensure we visit as much as possible in a country where the distances between sights can be very large.
So back to Kawkareik….It does not take us long to be rescued by a man on a motorbike who we are invited to follow to our destination, the “Honey Guest House”. A cold bucket shower (heaven) and no electricity for the entire town until 6pm….then our new friend Ko Htwe collects us, this time, in a car to give us a tour of the town, invites us into his house to meet his family followed by a meal at his favourite restaurant. In the morning we return for breakfast and advice on the road ahead before a fond farewell with even more food gifted for the journey. It is also Chinese New Year so we weave out of town amidst the small colourful procession of dragons, lions and drummers…..and exhausted nearing our destination, more drummers, beats spurring us on the final few kilometres. We fell lucky and filled with prosperity.
119km to Mawlamyine. No choice of shorter routes or to quietly amble. We have done days this long in Europe on good roads, but generally prefer sub 100km days to really enjoy the experience. The next licensed accommodation is here….or take the slightly, ever so slightly shorter road, at 70km a Y junction to Hpa-an. The road was fine….we wondered what all the fuss was about, having been warned of the poor condition of Myanmar roads…..until the final 40 kilometres, 42 degrees, sweaty bum….sore bum, the road again deteriorated and we bumped along painfully and exhausted. This was by far the worst “bitumen” stretch of road in 11 months of cycling…. in reference to comfort. Yet not many large vehicles were stupid enough to transverse this road and we felt quite safe avoiding collisions. We rode in the centre of the road as it was marginally smoother. We arrived in the dark, having crossed several long bridges where the boards were laid parallel to our direction of travel and just a wide enough gap to snag a tyre and come acropper. Li was extremely unimpressed but the sunset views over the Thalween river made up for it. We check into the first hotel we come across, hoping to move into cheaper digs in the daylight.
I am thankful for the offer of a motorcycle ride the next day when I go back to collect Li during a change of guest houses. The “Breeze Guest house” was far more basic and sparse than “Than Lwin Hotel” but we made the move due to cost and sincere hospitality including a wealth of freely given information.
Another day, another road side stall and I am enthralled by the simplicity of a handcrafted bottle opener made from a rusty bolt and scrap of timber. I ask to swap it for my fancy metal one. I am given the bottle opener as a gift while mine is only accepted after much pleading from myself.
The days begin to bleed into each other. One day feels like a week, there is so much to see, experience….and this just from the bicycle, small villages, farms and many days riding between the major tourist destinations.
We meet Ellen and Yann, 2 Belgian cycle tourists, find we have more in common than beer….lots of beer….ok…after beer….yes we all like the local whisky too….and of course cycling in common. Staying at the same guesthouse in Thaton, Greg another Belgian turned up.
Despite hangovers and a desire to stay in this vibrant town we agreed to cycle together the next morning. It was an enjoyable change to have company. So we loaded our 5 bikes, had breakfast together, watch the monks, the women road workers, the children…..too young to work, a child of 5 moving the bamboo road block barrier, to allow entry for a motorcycle. We watch, we contemplate our lives, the world at large, then pedal off into the unfamiliar…..and the roads remain remarkably good considering the laborious task undertaken by a predominately female work force. Stones are crushed by hand and carted on trays on top of their heads. Even the bitumen is mixed manually and potholes filled and smoothed, without the used of tools or machines.
From Thaton we ride 82km to Kinpun basecamp to visit the Golden Rock Pagoda. The 5 of us are shocked…..after relative solitude….we have hit one of Myanmar’s tourist hotspots..

Bamboo bikes

Jules — Mon, 02 Dec 2013 05:11:56 +0000

Whether we are in London or the Uzbek desert, or somewhere in between, the bamboo bikes have always stirred attention. (Well maybe not in Azerbaijan where the bamboo was ignored in place of the golden coloured chain which matched the majority of the locals’ smiles.)
Is it bamboo? Bambou? Bambus? Bambusz? Bambu? Bambiq? Tap, tap , tap….over time, hundreds of fingers tapping against the top tube, listening for the hollow sound of steel….or actually, yes, bamboo. A favourite pastime of ours is sitting in a cafe, or preferably a bar…..watching strangers approach the bikes as we gaze from a window. Faces of disbelief, double takes, photos, animated conversations and smiles.
Is it strong? Over 10000 kilometres and still going strong. Several 1000 kilometres of rough roads or at least on surfaces not really deserving the description of a road. Jarring pot holes, corrugation, rocks, sand, and below zero temperatures, rain, snow and searing heat where the bitumen melts, flinging up a sticky mess and adhering to tyres, caking mud guards until the wheels no longer turn.
We were slightly alarmed when Li’s down tube developed a hair line crack in Istanbul. We were not concerned about the overall structure, but concerned that the crack would allow moisture inside, and possibly rot if unable to dry out. We filled the crack with epoxy, the same glue used in fabricating the lugs and wrapping and securing the carbon fibre ribbon joints between the tubes. Almost 5000 kilometres further on and the crack has not developed or caused any problems.
If the bamboo were to break…..I am confident it will not without a considerable impact…..it could be easily repaired by ourselves with techniques and materials similar to their original construction. Had we been riding steel framed bikes we would be reliant on finding a welder should the frame fail. The failure of a carbon or aluminium frame would be likely unrepairable.
We are confident on the qualities of bamboo and the qualities are proving reliable.
Other components…..not so. My basket made of 10mm alloy tubes which I adore and would purchase again is bending due to the constant rattling, as well as occasional airborne bumps and jumps. Nuts and bolts are constantly loosening and requiring frequent attention. Our panniers are also losing bolts and screws, and on the worst of roads falling off or requiring extra strapping or stops to re-secure……whilst the bamboo is holding strong.
Our mistake in constructing the bikes was a rushed finish where the bottom brackets were installed backwards. This resulted in a false start on day one when we returned to London to repair Li’s bike, and several months later, a return to Prague to find a mechanic to repair mine.
We have had 6 punctures between us. My Panaracer tyres having none in 7000 kilometres before they required replacement due to wear. I have had one broken spoke, before the rough roads and likely due to the horrid “wheel bender” cycle parking which is avoided by any sensible cyclist. I was quite chuffed that after a brief lesson in truing wheels before our trip, I was able to replace the spoke satisfactorily while on the road.
The Rohloff gearing in the rear hub is a dream and something which we put even more confidence than the bamboo. Our confidence in this product has not let us down and was the reason we chose to go with hub gearing……oh…..and the fact I am rubbish at changing dérailleur gears! climbing with conventional gears my shift is followed by crunching and grinding as mu chain falls off. Changing gears on our bikes is a dream and anyone knowledgable about Rohloff ogles the hub even more than the bamboo.
All in all, Esther the Beast and Hank the bamboo bikes are doing well.

To Tashkent

Jules — Sat, 30 Nov 2013 02:52:47 +0000

It’s rained overnight, the second time in Uzbekistan. I was half expecting snow after a day of cold and mist which was not unwelcome adding to the mystery of Samarkand as we sought out ancient ruins rather than the majestic restorations that adorn the city.
We will likely get snow soon enough and know Almaty our final destination for this section of our journey is already under a carpet of treacherous white powder.
But today we head to the bus station. Hopefully our last bout of motorised transport before entering Kazakstan and resuming our journey from the saddle.
A short 6km ride to the station. Unlike our dilemma in Kiva and then Bukhara…..we know where the bus station is…..no matter that bus stations do not look like I would expect a bus station to appear. We arrive directly……not passing several times searching in growing exasperation. All busses from here go to Tashkent. We are no longer rushed and know the process…..no longer quickly agreeing a price, being rushed on board and sitting waiting hours for the bus to depart with a filling bladder. We go to the loo, purchase food, decline the first bus as are not happy with the expensive fair. We are feeling happy and relaxed. We have previously paid the same price as a seat for each bike placed in the hold.
The next bus asks a fair price for our seats only and makes room for bikes and luggage. We expect a 6-7 hour journey, and miraculously arrive in Tashkent in 3.5 hours…..still daylight. Everything is going smoothly.
We have been told Tashkent authorities have banned the riding of bicycles. On line we try and find information…….mysteriously we can not open any of the pages referring to the police crack down. The Internet is censored. We will ride our bicycles. In daylight we pedal 25km of this sprawling city in search of a hotel.
In Uzbekistan everyone is a taxi. It’s a fantastic form of car pooling……unless you are riding in Tashkent on a bicycle. Where usually in London, New York…..anywhere, marked taxis are a hindrance to all other road users, stopping suddenly, illegal turns…..obstacles to moving forward, in Tashkent, every car…..a taxi, stops to collect a fair…..hundreds of vehicles, suddenly stopping, or attempting to pull out….blocking not one, two…..up to 5 lanes of traffic. It is chaos, police are everywhere…..but pay no attention to us or our bicycles as we stop start, weave our way through, get lost in the old town and eventually, in the dark, arrive at a hotel.

Uzbekistan

Jules — Fri, 22 Nov 2013 05:44:22 +0000

Our mood has continued to flow like the bleak landscape, rays of sunshine and warmth followed by ice cold gusts and grey drabness. But this is not Uzbekistan.
It is cold here…..not so, so cold, and the desert has continued for a thousand kilometres. Not much between our journey, train, bus and flour truck to places of hotel registration.
But out of the desert evolve the Uzbeks. A kind, warm, smiling, gentle and accepting people…..also a fighting, strong people. Paying the police at every road block, stopped by unmarked police cars, constant reminders of the continued battles do not diminish the outward appearances of these people’s strength. For a thousand kilometres there is nothing, and everything……more than just the police. Ancient cities of the Silk Road surrounded by sand, rubble and people going about their daily lives. Harder lives than our struggle to negotiate without language, transport, transport for our bikes, ourselves, no maps, no signs, no fresh food, arrivals in darkness, no street lights…..intermittent electricity, water, hot water.
We are reliant on these kind people and their help to find everything. Even food shops, bus stations are void of signage…..one must open a door, go in and explore or enquire and hope for a person’s patience.
One moment this is exciting, the next……tiring, frustrating and acceptance of our dependence upon strangers.
The bikes were our independence.
And out of the desert are the cities of history…..poetic, beautiful, emotional…..cities that have inspired the imagination for centuries…..Khiva, Bukhara, Samarkand. Restored to varying degrees, it is all breathtaking and we are lucky sharing these magical colourful tiled cities rising out of the dust, sharing with no one but the local inhabitants and a very few Uzbek tourists.
We are given bread, food…..food we are warned not to eat…..everyone gets sick in Uzbekistan. So far we are not sick. The food is simple….lacking vegetables, but satisfying and often shared with us full of kindness.
We have stayed in a “hotel”…..a room with a table that is our bed and packages of old shoes…..unfortunately no registration. The squat loos can be filthy, but the people always meticulously trying to be clean. Never in the western world have I seen a bus load of men after peeing, share around a bottle of water in which to wash their hands.
In Bukhara we are gestured to please visit a woman, residing above our hotel room. After many attempts to keep the conversation of few words going I am instructed to take off my clothes. It is not often I am so pliant. Dressed and wrapped like a parcel. Wearing an Asian dress, headscarf and makeup…..complete with over the top painted eyebrows ridiculous for my hair colouring. I seldom wear dresses. We have fun, laugh and this is all the language required.
We eat sunflower seeds…..everyone eats sunflower seeds….I am slowly improving in the technique…..but sometimes impatient, I eat them husks and all. They are quite addictive.
I have also learnt to lie. Finally my husband and child have given me additional freedom. No more tutting, or disappointment, no more feeling sorry for my childless predicament. Hopefully, no more male advances, “Julia……Julia….Julia…….no boyfriend…..Julia…..I love you”……I have a husband and a daughter….she is 16….and am proud of my new ability to lie in advancement of my survival, or at least my sanity.
I will not remember Uzbekistan for my new skill to alter the truth but the countries and experiences leading up to my need to lie. I will remember Uzbekistan is difficult…..but also a country of colour, people, dreaming, history and a future. Next stop, Tashkent, the capital.

To cycle or not to cycle?

Jules — Thu, 21 Nov 2013 15:24:23 +0000

13/11/13

Our bodies are able…..’ish’…..but our minds….emotions?…..the past few days have been a roller coaster. Never, in what is almost 8 months on the road have either of us contemplated giving up…. Not seriously and not into a whole day, or several days of grief. It is today that these feelings began. The feelings….flat….failure….insecurity….. mistrust…. fear…. Feelings inside ourselves and towards others came as a sledge hammer hitting us both simultaneously, unfamiliar and disabling.
We had booked flights to Hong Kong for Christmas. We will take the bikes from Almaty to Hong Kong. Hopefully secure visas for China and planning to cycle back to Almaty in fairer weather. We reason that this is sensible, logical, but it feels slightly wrong.
Next we looked at our visa restrictions in Uzbekistan. 30 days, requiring to register our presence every 72 hours. About 500 kilometres to the first place of registration. For us this is impossible in current conditions. From Beyneu in Kazakhstan we make another unwelcome decision to take the train. Not every cycle tourist registers, handing over money to falsify papers….a very few are deported……we will play by the rules.
Purchasing tickets is problematic. Hours at the station, queue jumpers, elbows and fighting to get to the ticket window…. Find the price….go to the AtM (no credit card payments here)….back to the ticket office…. They will not sell us tickets. Voiceless, dejected, unable to hear, translate…. Why? We have no idea why, but without a ticket we decide to ride….
We set out early and struggle to pedal at 12 kilometres an hour with poor road surfaces and a head wind. My knee that has changed from a small niggle in past weeks is now painful after only 10 kilometres. We turn back towards Beyneu and try our luck at the train station again. With some difficulty in the queue that is not a queue but a battle ground Li purchases tickets for a train to Kungrad in Uzbekistan.
I look after the bikes, a small crowds of curious onlookers come and go.
We celebrate the tickets and make lunch…..children come and go…they want to wear our helmets, ring the bell….we watch but don’t watch well enough. The little b*******s, they steal our compass and mirror…..small things useless to themselves but priceless to our daily tasks, and impossible to replace in small town Central Asia.
We decide to remain 12 hours in the cold, till midnight watching our bikes rather than take refuge in the warmth of the station.
We try and forget the theft, forget we are not riding…..soak up the atmosphere that is Beyneu…..not much written in travel guides….not much written about this point of call at all but intriguing, different and for me well worth the visit. This is Kazakhstan. I need to go to the loo….ask strangers, gesture to strangers….no signs, no language, I waddle up and down the bazaar that was once such a treat when I had an empty bladder .I find the magical door just as I am close to tears, imagining I will be wet for an entire train journey. The toilet attendant….like almost all toilet attendants the world over, does not like me, barks at me…..but my pants are down…..I am relieved and tired with relief that we will soon be in Uzbekistan.
Back at the station, my turn to approach the station staff. Where, how go we get the bikes on the train? Someone is going to push in front if me….I nudge closer to the window….grit my teeth….I am angry and pissed off….fuelled by the theft ….I feel I will bite if necessary….I scowl….nudge closer….the man does not push in front.
I half expect to be dismissed but I am moved over to a newly opened window….my own window to commence a conversation via google translate. Men still try to steal my window, push in….but they are ignored. It takes an hour passing the phone, the translations, back and forth…my helper is in fits of giggles…..actually, hysterics…..I am giggling, relaxing….a few sentences takes an age….I am told
“To immerse the bike talk to the gods let money guide”
I go back to Li feeling strangely uplifted reporting not to worry and that we just need to give the conductor some money……and pray!
Hours, hours…. later, we make coffee on the platform, then beer…..my toilet is closed…..more searching, requesting…..the whole of Beyneu must know I need a toilet…….and the next attendant is nice to me….even when I walk in on a squatting man….then the woman’s communal squatting loo where I frighten another woman who I think assumed I was a man.
Back on the rather cold platform it becomes very interesting watching numerous vendors set up…..50kg flour bags…..alcohol…..sweets…..and we become very interesting to the locals…..I spy the thrives….chase them…..do not catch them.
Everyone is interested in our ticket….the conductors are not. We watch closely as a group of women look at our tickets… Pass them about…. a lot of discussion….and indicate this is our train. The conductors are still not interested. We do not know if it is our train…. The time is wrong.
The women take our ticket to some soldiers…. Lots of conversation…. The soldiers, border control……banging on the train door… Tickets becoming hard to follow….women, soldiers, conductor, soldiers. The Conductor slams the train door closed. Soldiers bang on door…. Door open, closed…. More banging on the door.
The soldiers indicate that this is our train and for us to bring our bikes and luggage. They help us up onto the train….. Through the train…. Onto tracks on the other side. What on earth is going on? There is another train hidden behind the first, stationary in the darkness. A small amount of English….. This is your train…..more waiting, the soldiers talk with another conductor…… Problem….. They will not accept the bikes. In English we can make small conversation with soldiers…. Offer money…. They disappear to talk to conductor…. We hand over 2000 Tenge and are assisted to load the bikes and luggage onto the train. Soldiers chat with us for a while, take passports, return passports and tell us conductors may ask for more money and not give any more.
We share a sleeping compartment with 2 Uzbek men who try and help us fill out a customs form in Russian. They offer tea and food. Tired we decline and the 4 of us go to sleep in our berths as the train departs. Around 1am, somewhere in Uzbekistan we are woken and asked for our passports. We are “informally” asked questions and returned passports 2 hours later. Go back to sleep. Later we are woken and asked for customs forms….. Hand them over and the 2 men in our department indicate we should sleep as customs officials continue to ask many questions. Our instincts are to trust the men and we go to sleep. About 4 hours after stopping we hear the train gently move on.
As the sun rises we wake to more desert, desolation, flat, sparse…. There is nothing out here. The men in our compartment hand us our customs forms, stamped without our luggage having been inspected…… Except “informally” by the one who initially collected our passports, customs form and wanted to see our kindle and steripen. We are relived as some tourist stories of border control and customs are problematic, involving bribes,hours of questioning and a full luggage inspection.
More desert. The men in our compartment are kind….. Give us breakfast and will not take any of our food in return. They help us with money changing. Check the amount is correct….. We can not help but be nervous…..help with the forms….. Declaring everything on the forms meant everyone knew our business, the amount of cash and valuables we were carrying.
Kungrad, Uzbekistan, time to depart, our instincts were right. We were not robbed and were instead assisted in taking all luggage and bikes off the train.
Our moods soar…. Then plummet. Frustration at our feelings of mistrust towards everyone. We ride off into desert that is now irrigated and somewhat fertile….. Oceans of fluffy grasses swaying, rising and swelling in the wind.
We have 2 nights to find a hotel, to register our presence in the vastness that is now Uzbekistan. Our moods are fragile. But there is a road…..actual asphalt and locals on bicycles!

Mangystau

Jules — Sun, 10 Nov 2013 04:03:59 +0000

After a few hiccups we did not leave Aktau until 3pm. Not such a big deal as we had already planned to stay until noon making the most of our hotel. We pedalled off on a lesser road to Shetpe. Travelling along what felt like an industrial waste land, the road quickly deteriorated and we followed power lines, a train line and gas pipeline into the starkness that was the desert.
I was feeling on edge, we knew finding ‘stealth’ camp sites was going to be difficult and I was feeling very, very exposed. Sooner than necessary we chose a place to pitch the tent….behind the pipeline and a few piles of rubble.
Fortunately we only traveled 36km as the next morning after another 2 km a car pulled us over enquiring as to where we were going. Much gesturing and crossing of arms later we understood the driver was saying the road to Shepte was impassable. We deliberated, looked at our map, looked at Google maps…..where the road mysteriously disappears about 30km before our first town….and turned back to Aktau. We would trace our steps, our pedalling, and take the longer route.
After Aktau, the road deteriorated further. The asphalt appeared fine, until we rolled, bumped….bumped, and jumped along it. The road was crazed and in places patched, thousands of patches never flattened down so that despite an absence of pot holes the road was slow and uncomfortable. Like cobble stones….irregular cobble stones. Occasionally we would be blessed with 10 meters, even 50 meters of a thin veneer of smooth bitumen but you could still feel many of the old patches underneath.
Again I began to feel edgy, where would we spend our night…..there was absolutely nothing, not a hill, tree, hump as far as the horizon. We descended into a valley situated well below sea level and as evening approached we noted a big climb back onto the steppe. Just before the climb a sign indicated a picnic area and small scrubby plants off the side of the road. We investigated. A small spring from the ground explained the plants but nowhere was invisible from the road. Li strolled off to further investigate the ridge we were soon to climb. She soon returned saying she had found the perfect camp spot. Puzzled….”but I could see you the whole time?”
“Can you see the 5 camels”
Well….”No?”
“Good…..then no one will see us”
“What about the camels?”
“There is plenty of room for all of us!”
The camels did not think so and wandered off as we descended into the banks of a dry river bed. Wild horses strolled the ridges as we pitched for another night.
…….more crap roads…..ferocious headwind. The wind was hindering, bitter, cold…..crap wind. Still on asphalt and so very slow. We took refuge in our music and after a 90 degree bend in the road, music and tail wind, we were feeling euphoric as we clocked 9000 kilometres on the odometer. We celebrated with a brief rest to watch the mechanical donkeys, oil and gas fields, and shortly afterwards an unexpected town to purchase some extra food and some beer. We requested and were given well water at the mosque.
With the beer we celebrated our next found refuge for the night. Our first experience of sleeping in a culvert, a small concrete tunnel directly under the road……after we cleaned out the fossilised human crap.
Shetpe…..our last chance to stock up on supplies, and we made our first purchase of water for the entire time we have been traveling. We knew there would be the occasional tea house and as it is getting cold we use less water so we only purchased two 5 litre bottles. We still had a small supply from Aktau.
Not far after Shetpe, about 30 km , the crap road ceased to exist and became a crap track. A very wide track as the 2 lanes became 6 as trucks and the fewer cars have over time worn a super slow ‘highway’ further and further into the desert, away from the centre of the “road” in an attempt to avoid the bumps and sand and dust holes and crevices of the original path. In places up to 7 further tracks weave their way in roughly the right direction, occasionally diverging and criss crossing and the traffic including ourselves, moves between all the lesser width tracks looking for the smoothest way forward.
Bull dust……Li thought I was making the word up, but the Oz outback is full of it…..this track was full of it, as were our eyes, noses, clothes, our underpants. Unlike sand it is not so abrasive, but gets in even more places, is sticky and cloying…..Especially in your mouth……We put on our ski goggles. Fortunately it was mostly shallow bulldust…..when not in the air…. and we rolled…..ok….bumped, relatively easily over most of it. In other places it was a foot thick.
We found another camp site between 2 hills above the road. It had been a beautiful day, riding in T-shirts. The temperature plummeted. As we finished our camp meal ice crystals formed on the remains. We woke struggling to remove the frozen caps of out water storage. Both 5 litre containers almost solid….we peeled our frozen bananas, packed away our frozen eggplant and remaining tomato for later on. Too cold to check the temperature over night it must have been our coldest yet going by the degree of ice. It was -2 when we climbed into the not so welcoming tent at 8pm.
More tracks, more wind, no wind, beautiful sun shine, even tail winds. The wind bought on the cold and we were in and out of layers of clothing as it picked up then abated. The wind chill could make a high temperature of 20 degrees feel like zero.
More culverts…..we slept in 6 tunnels under the road out of the ten nights. Mostly they were clean and a refuge from the wind, occasionally they became a wind tunnel. There was evidence camels had entered some, crawling on their knees which must be a sight. Their fur stuck to the small circular walls.
Despite the refuge from prying eyes I did not overly like sleeping in tunnels but I loved our desert adventure. The cold and our troglodyte adaption was well worth the extremes of experience. Starry nights void of all light pollution. Shooting stars. The sun rising, pinks, reds, blue hughes and camels silhouetted on the horizon. Picture books becoming reality, the real sounds of silence.
And occasionally the road became pure bliss, fresh new Tarmac for 20 kilometres or so, then tracks, then Tarmac. We rode on the unfinished road that is years from completion and joining up, but the small sections were a well earned break, briefly from the filling, teeth jiggling kilometre after very long kilometre to Beyneu…..our last town before Uzbekistan.

Aktau

Jules — Tue, 29 Oct 2013 08:37:14 +0000

We spent 3 days and 3 nights on the ferry to Kazakhstan. Despite being rowing distance from the port for a large part of the final day, we didn’t dock until about 3pm…..and finally we were allowed to disembark and go through passport control as the sun was telling us to make hast and it begun to disappear.
It was unfortunate that we left the ship with bile filling my being…..the rude sailor barking….”take your bags and go”…..so he did speak some English! After hours of being told to wait we were given no warning, were rushed to load the bikes, and flee into the unknown.
Passport control was quick, a few questions about where I worked and then customs. All luggage went through an X-ray although I am not convinced it was actually turned on. Nothing was opened or inspected. We were set loose with no bearings, no map, no language, no view of a city…..just a lone camel, sand, low rise buildings, chasing dogs and dead ends. On instinct after a few false starts, in the dark Li directed us along the coast searching for a hotel. I sang to myself……sand and potholes…..i will not fall off, i will not fall off. We would take the first hotel we could find. Fortunately we came across Hotel Salem. It was one of the cheapest Li had discovered on line when we had once upon a time had the Internet.
Showers are currently low on my agenda. It’s nice to wash when we can……but what I want is a bath, I’ve been dreaming about one for days……it has a bath! I don’t want to wash….I want to wallow.
The female staff are wonderful….full of smiles. Safe, smiles laughter and wallowing. I think the water may run out , it does not.
We must stay in Aktau until we register with immigration police. Sunday they will be closed but we stroll about hoping to find the office in preparation. We can not find the office. There are no street names, just districts…..1,2,3,4…….we look for building 123 in district 3. The building numbers do not appear to be in numerical order and we walk in spirals. Monday after walking for an hour…..really a ten minute walk from our hotel, we discover the immigration police office and register. It’s confusing as there are many people and we can’t speak the language. A person in uniform approaches, takes our passports and disappears……it looks like we have queue jumped. We wait….are called over to a small window…..20-30 minutes written on small piece of paper and we are indicated to sit down. 30 minutes later we have the all important stamp on our registration paper and can now leave Aktau as we see fit.
One more night, we stock up on food, sterilise 13 litres of water…..fill up another 10 litres we will sterilise on route…..and set of into the relatively unknown……what we do know is that the desert is in front of us…..575km to Uzbekistan…..only 2 towns on our map….and that it will be sandy and cold.

Cycle touring in Azerbaijan

Jules — Sat, 26 Oct 2013 15:05:53 +0000

We did not see much of Azerbaijan. One month visa but the necessity of keeping 2 weeks free in Baku meant a relatively hasty ride to the capital once leaving Georgia…..no detours to natures delights. Though we did a 6 km detour to Bum. Off the main road, but joining up so that the distance was not so great, our childish selves decided a photo of Bum was absolutely necessary.. We did not detour to bubbling volcanic mud flats, ancient castles, churches, national parks…..we cycled to, bumped, skidded, pushed along a rocky track…..to Bum. Nothing there bar a small village, but we like small villages, loved the beauty, the trail towards the base of the mountain, clouds swelling and snowy peaks in the distance. 6 km and 2 hours later…..it was flat going, but hard going, we arrived in the back end of Bum.
Fortunately the road became bitumen as we passed through.
In Azerbaijan the landscape, the climate changes dramatically within a days ride. Our first, we cycled beside the Greater Caucusus. Majestic and filling us with excitement. The trees representing autumn while not so very far away, higher, winter is well on its way. Our first evening we lose sight of the snowy peaks and miraculously find ourselves camping in sub tropical rainforest. Twisted vines, ferns, damp and rotting leaf matter…….And of course…..cows.
Strange whooping, howling packs of some kind of animal somewhere close by. Eerily these creatures are present every night, starting up their banshee like howl as the sun blinks out….and quiet, then again and again until we fall asleep. We call them the ‘whoopies’. They are not dogs…..but they set off the dogs into a barking frenzy.
Then a day of rain and mizzle.
Another night we camp on the edge of a national park. For hours we had cycled on a road encased in dappled golden light, catching occasional glimpses of the crystal clear blue sky above. Shrouded by gigantic trees, possibly beech…..the next morning I had to correct Li from rolling deeper, further into the forest where bears, elk, wolves and other unseen, unheard creatures were protected. We still heard the whoopies.
Back to the main road, the trees became smaller, but more colourful…..and rather prickly. Careful where we squat when nature calls. The temperature at night became warmer. And then a day of 30 degrees. We hit desert, warm and clear and emotionally, visually moving.
What we did see of Azerbaijan was beautiful and full of contrast….similarity the small villages, towns, city. There is a lot of money……and no money. The money is flashy, shouting….bling, bling. In rural areas the money is visible in people’s golden teeth. Newly built facades, castle like walls and structures hiding the crumbling and forgotten……Lada or Mercedes. I like the new Lada……simple, tough, efficient and no bling.
Azerbaijan produces oil…..the petrol we purchase to fuel our stove is pink, stinks of sulphur and burns rough. In each country we by petrol, the colour, the smell, the burn…..is significantly different.
Baku ‘s old town is beautiful, restored for tourists and the rich…..Li does not like it……it is too clean, feels too new. Are the city walls really that ancient? The old city is brand new perfection. Cross a major road…..if you dare…..for pedestrians it is treacherous……and there live the poor, the disabled, the disenfranchised.
The sky line is London, New York…..you will find glass, steel, ceramic, dramatic illumination, resembling scenes from around the world.
Every where we travel people are fascinated with the fact that our bikes are constructed from bamboo. This is the first country where people notice, are excited that the bike chains are the colour of gold.

The loss of our friend

Jules — Tue, 03 Sep 2013 11:38:54 +0000

The loss of our friend saddens me. He joined us our second day last day day in Turkey. The comfort and trust was mutual, immediate.
Li was waiting for me after I was detained due to roadworks 15km past Artvin. As I finally approached Li I spotted him, but unlike with others I did not stop, just slowed down knowing he intended no harm.
No words were spoken, he just joined us for 1km….2km….15km…..at the tea shack he sat, watching us, when I moved he kept a close eye……until we all moved on again….next destination….together.
I called him Ody…..Odysseus…..Odyssey……he obviously did not understand English.
Ody was odd and one of those annoying friends in a terrifying, thrilling, loving, can’t live with….without, kind of way. He had a death wish and we were terrified he could take us with him. But he was also protective…..as Li disappeared around the next bend, he would come back and check on me….then off again to be with Li…..and then sometimes, to share the love….he would again pad along with me. Through numerous tunnels, climbs and short descents……if only he would not chase cars! Our fear he would be killed, or send a car perilously into us.
Day one with Ody ended when we coasted quickly 8km into the small town, Borcka……Ody turned into a tiny speck in my rear view mirror…..and was gone.
Ody the crazy German Shepard had first found Li as she waited for me as a man had been pelting stones at him. Unlike other dogs he did not chase us…..merely followed.
Day 2……Ody found us at the main intersection as we prepared to leave Borcka……he was so happy……I was so happy…..briefly….because he again began to chase cars. Not all friendships are perfect.
So more tunnels, more climbs…..resting….I feed him bread as it is all I had…..he waited patiently, he ran heroically…..he chased cars….more climbs. I started to worry…..we would soon be at the border with Georgia…..could Ody sneak through….I worried more…..chasing cars…..would Ody be killed. I dreamed…..a life with Ody!
We entered some clouds, nothing visible….then the police! Is that your dog? Ody chased cars…..screeching of brakes….car horns…..the police ignored the chaos in Ody’s wake…..actually a police dog joined in the chase.
A cloud, then waterfalls, lush tea plantations, cloud, the Black Sea, cloud, sun…..the most beautiful descent. Stopped for photographs….Ody very hot, kept up on the down hill and cooled down in a puddle. Photos done, the remaining descent……speed….chasing cars……Ody becoming a speck…..still following…..I want to slow down…..problematic……I resist my brakes…..15km…..where is Ody?
We wait at the bottom…..not long enough……
I miss Ody…..we miss Ody.

More pictures uploaded to photo gallery

Jules — Sat, 17 Aug 2013 17:16:02 +0000