Bamboo Odyssey » Women | Bamboo Odyssey

Traveling by bicycle

Jules — Fri, 24 Jan 2014 11:20:05 +0000

Have you ever been painfully attracted to someone…..but don’t particularly like them…..blissfully enthralled by their company.? That feeling for me, i can liken to the feeling of hill climbs when on my bicycle. But in between the lust there is the whole journey,….euphoria. A feeling so strong it can be like marriage, like being with someone You can not be without. I am in love…..not with Thailand which is beautiful, desirable, full of passion….. colour, taste, touch and smell….a country and people that can fulfil many persons dreams. Thailand is indeed wonderful.
But I am in love….. in love with riding my bicycle…..Travelling by bicycle. It is a difficult relationship….but in contrast….so easy. A country changes as you pedal with your own steam, while you don’t always have the time to see the “must” see tourist sights. The bleak and unmajestic becomes alive, blowing through your hair (when I am fast enough) blowing through your hair ( if the headwind is horrible enough) , muscles, joints, skin, mind, tingling with effort. And the people you meet….they all appreciate the effort. And You….you appreciate the effort so that everything is new, the unseen, forgotten or just ignored is in full bloom, vibrant and alive. One moment in the middle of undocumented nowhere becomes more impressive, more magical than any “wonder of the world”.
Sometimes I listen to music to help with the climbs….or take me from my monotonous mind…..so that when I pass a bar, cafe, blazing stereo from a car…. Or more likely rickshaw…when I hear a particular tune I am taken back in time. Once apron a time to the dance floor, a euphoric moment with friends, loving, happy memories…but now these memories are intertwined, I am taken back to a mountain pass in Turkey…..a desert plain in Kazakstan….I am taken back to a different, more lonely, individual but equally euphoric moment, a moment i will forever treasure of traveling on my bicycle.
I am still not particularly good at climbing, dreading the climb until I love it. I am not particularly good at riding long distances, just many, many short distances…..but what I am good at….I am good at….loving what I do….Yes, travelling by bicycle.

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.

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.

A long way to go

Jules — Wed, 28 Aug 2013 19:14:31 +0000

Smelly, sweaty, dusty, dust sticking to sweat….clothes full of holes, baggy and now ill-fitting…..hair resembling road kill…..we should know as have seen a lot! …..tired…..cycling practically all day….who has desire….energy for sex? And they still ask! Are these men stupid…..they are certainly desperate.
After some unwanted advances, experiences, we have tried to curb our behaviour, have asked many locals for advice. We are not so smiley, do not offer our hand unless offered first. (A friend commented we are too polite, maybe, but i try to give the benefit of the doubt.) We overt our eyes….avoid eye contact. Place our bodies facing away, from him, them. We cover up more than we did previously when getting off the bike.
I say I am married, no…..no children. Have even said my husband is meeting us further down the track……I do not say, I sincerely hope you are not some poor woman’s husband.
At least the last man was polite enough to “ask” Li for a kiss and left her to depart unhindered when she said no. One man who stopped his car, offering us a lift, turned up hours later, another place on the road, wanting a photo, with a kiss. So insistent, unrelenting, I kissed him on the cheek so he would finally piss off…..photo evidence, no doubt, that he is such a “man”.
As already noted we meet many respectful men, hospitable men, helpful and honest men. Unfortunately too many that need a mighty kick….such behaviour breeds fear, absolutely no respect, shame on their country and their sex the world over. We pedal along , knowing the country is irrelevant…..safety…..joking…safety….black humour…..that we still have sex appeal…..and a long way to go.