Bamboo Odyssey » Uzbekistan | Bamboo Odyssey

Uzbekistan into Kazakhstan

Jules — Fri, 06 Dec 2013 13:39:14 +0000

Uzbekistan to Kazakstan. We entered at the pedestrian only crossing 25km past Tashkent. Maybe we would never have crossed the border had it not been for the guards clearing a passage for us through the surging crowds. The guards were not so gentle, at one point grabbing a man by the scruff of his shirt, yanking him as he moved in front of me. 2 women actually climbed over Li and her bike before I angled my bike and extended both arms as a barrier. The crowds were insistent in their forward motion, one woman fighting with a soldier toting a machine gun. She continued to yell, arm holding a stringed box as she strained towards Kazakstan. The man with the machine gun held strong to the string so they were at a stand still, her box in between. The soldier was young, the woman old and determined, both unpredictable, but I would not have wanted to go up against that woman, even with a gun.
With aid of the guards we were squeezed through, not a second thought of queue jumping as there was no queue.
Border control did not request to see our multiple slips of paper, registration slips and the reason we had decided not to ride large sections of Uzbekistan. Only hotels catering to foreigners will register you and there could be 400….500 kilometres between hotels. However riding to the border, we came to another of the hundreds of police check points across Uzbekistan. We were stopped…..passports……registration papers……they scrutinised every slip, counting and re counting the dates to make sure they added up. Our passports returned…..mine requested again, the police wanted to look at the Kangaroo on the coat of arms before we were sent our way.
Apart from travel blogs, there was very little up to date information about travel trough Uzbekistan. Even the Lonely Planet guides are 3 years old and out of date….but what information we could find warned of the dangers of the police, corruption, bribes, stealing passports, money, equipment not correctly declared on forms difficult to discipher. Were we carrying legal medication? We were somewhat scared,…..fears strengthened as we witnessed locals paying bribes to police on many occasions.
Fortunately we had no problems, passports checked only once during a bus journey despite constant stopping at road blocks.
Our equipment was x-rayed upon exit and with a friendly wave from the soldiers were moved on.

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!