Part 7: Uzbekistan & Kyrgyzstan
We meet the Norwegians again who made it to the border before us. We’re lucky – the gate is still open. Stefan has to drive through a sanitation bath. As a passenger, Jos has to get out of the car and walk – as usual. Some doctor wants to know about diseases we had the last weeks. The car check itself takes not more than 3 minutes. Stefan attends one officer to the car who merely takes a quick look inside, smiles, asks about all the can food and how much the boombox costs in Europe. Done. Car check accomplished. Meeting again at the customs check something is wrong with Jos passport and it takes ages as the guy literally memorizes every single page. Twice. Jos has no idea whats wrong. Either the guy has fallen in love with him or he is sceptical due of the fact that the portraits of him in his passport look so vicious that they bear an astounding resemblance to some belorussian war/drug-lord. Even though Jos gives his best showing some big grins it takes something like 15 minutes until he finally may proceed to the next station where we have to wait for the Norwegians who are still busy carrying their TV studio concealed in Peli cases as well as the (hidden) drone into the check zone. Takes a while but the officers are not to keen on causing trouble. They are even joking around and showing us attractions to visit and places to go on maps as well as yellowed, faded pictures that are decorating the brittle walls of the custom halls. We are all wondering about several birds flying around within the building. Apparently they are endured here, building their nests and pooping in buckets the officers put on the ground. In a nutshell – the atmosphere is amicable – everything went like clockwork – the drone is not found and we continue together with the Norwegians to our first destination in Uzbekistan: Bukhara.
Bukhara
It takes less than 2h unto the center of Bukhara. Leaving the border the Norwegians gave us a walkie-talkie to be able to communicate with them while driving yet after a few minutes we lose contact. Maybe the guys shouldn’t have bought the crappy Fisher-Price-Children’s-version with a range that is limited to shouting distance. Anyway, as we’re reaching the narrow alleys of the beautiful historic old town of Bukhara we realize that we both ended up in a dead end. It’s the second time our offline phone apps turn out to be a miserable failure. Reversing to where we came from is not an option as that would mean to go back for at least 20 minutes through hairpin curves. So it’s option B – turning around somehow. Luckily the whole maneuver is sweetened by the fact that we already had our own little celebration of the successful border crossing (supported by the newly emerged chance of getting local beer) creating the youthful enthusiasm needed here.
10 minutes of winding and waving we’re free to head to the center and find ourselves a parking lot directly across the Kok-Gumbaz mosque. We split into three teams asking for ho(s)tel prices in the area. As Bukhara is kind of a tourist hotspot in Uzbekistan nothing beyond 60€ is available. Some of the Norwegians decide to do it anyway using the lame excuse that they have to charge batteries of their equipment. The rest of us stands firm which opens up another option. We’re heading back to the parking lot asking the boys guarding the cars if we simply could setup our tent on the ground behind our already parked car. Without paying attention to our surroundings we decide to do it and save some cash. Next step is trying to get something for dinner and some more of that tasty beers. As it got late already the former remains impossible yet we’re able to get ourselves some drinks and after some negotiation also some free Naan bread.
Around 11 the place shuts down rapidly. Lights off. Music off. People leaving in droves. We stroll around in search for more beers (or a surrogate) however, as we learn later, the task is doomed to failure. In our desperation we ask around on the streets for booze, clubs or something else and hear about a “place” below a hotel bar which we of course checkout. We find the hotel and indeed they sell us beer including the hint that it is not allowed to sell it after 11. Plus – no sign of a club, disco, brothel or whatever. A bit disappointed but at least in possession of some drinks we continue to stroll around in the old town where we meet other rallyers and travellers from Russia, Italy and England. We sit, talk, drink. One girl was travelling together with an official Mongol Rally team but managed to somehow get kicked out and is on her own now. After quite a while, as our drinks are drawing to a close, Jos decides to search for some more booze – peer pressure. Of course we end up with a bottle of vodka and a little bit of local coke. It’s 4-something as the group splits end everybody is staggering to their respective sleeping berths.
At 6 in the morning there is something amiss. Something’s not good. In addition to the well-known hangover symptoms after relishing cheap local vodka, building workers decide to take advantage of the still endurable temperatures and rev up the engines of their jackhammers only 20m away from our camping location. The parking lot guys seem to be having a lot of fun observing those two idiots trying to sleep in the middle of the city giving us thumbs up. The night as well as the chance to get some more sleep is hereby over.
Coffee. Alternatively we would also go for some saline solution intravenously but unfortunately that’s not available here. So it’s coffee and of course tea, together with locals sitting in a quiet corner close to the mosque. Feeling better after a while we’re talking about the trip, our route and our non-existing families what always causes some commotion. We receive tips but cannot remember a lot later on due to our current condition. The guys are nice. Serving tea. Feeding us cookies. More tea. This repeats a few times. One of the guys, Azmad, talks to Stefan about his cousin living in Germany and a few seconds later Stefan is holding his phone talking in German about the food that is being served in the medical center of Darmstadt where he is employed. It’s hard to break away from that cozy place though in consideration of the 4h-ride to our next destination Samarkant we say goodbye to the guys not feeling 100% roadworthy again. It’s hot. Extremely hot.
Do you think we should eat some real food Jos asks pointing at some decent-looking BBQ across the street. Why not, Stefan replies, turns the car and parks it in front of the eatery drawing some attention. We ask for the options knowing that it’s going to be an arbitrary variation of meat plus bread plus surprise. As always Jos put straight that he’d like to order meat only if it’s either chicken or beef by imitating the origin of those specific types of meat in both gesture and sound. It works.
We get what we want and over and above some extras. It seems Jos made quite an impression with his grand entrance to the local town girls/waitresses/alley cats and undoubtedly one (the waitress) of them is interested in more than serving us dinner yet the terms negotiated remain quite unclear at first. Being very persistent she returns to our table a few times winking and smirking undoubtedly with her remaining teeth. The conversation between the two works out pretty well considered that Jos continues to speak Dutch with her as she doesn’t stop chatting in Uzbek/Russian. After some time we are offered a desert (maybe fermented milk pudding). Jos passes. Stefan enjoys it and expresses his gratitude by nodding and smiling to one lady who seems to be the cook. She rushes to the table returning the smile by an hit-and-run style stranglehold hug. Jos takes some pictures and we manage to escape. What a diverting lunch.
We want to meet the Norwegians one more time in Samarkant. It’s the hottest day since we’re travelling. Above 40°C and extremely humid. Even in the afternoon and early evening times the temeratures barely drop below 35°C. We arrive at Samarkant on time without further incidents in the late afternoon, find a very nice hostel via Maps.me and wait for the Norwegians. They ineffectively tried to contact Stefan via SMS a few times cause he fell asleep instantly after arriving the hostel and didn’t wake up before 11 PM. Our friends broke the whole left front axle of their Skoda hitting a pothole hard and fast in the attempt of evading it on the way. They were able to temporarily fix it with the assistance of half an Uzbek village what unfortunately took until deep in the night. They arrived in our hostel late and we met them not before the next morning. After breakfast the temperatures rise above 35°C again. Shortly later 40°C again. We decide to do something. Later. Much later. Not now. It’s hard to move. Stefan plays with his images. Jos writes and meets a German guy owning and driving a big fat Land Rover Deluxe. He started in China, drove through Mongolia and wants to continue until India. He recommends a route we should take through Mongolia, neither the northern nor the most used southern route but an alternative yet feasible route through central Mongolia passing the Tarvagatai Mountains.
We’re hungry and since walking is hard-work under these circumstances we’re only able to pick ourselves up eating dumplings at a place very close to our hostel with the confidence-inspiring name „Chicken and Free“. Jos again is not 100% convinced about his order making sure he also recieves a „backup-hotdog“ – just in case. The dumplings are ok. The hotdog absolutely is not. Upon finishing our feast we ask the owner about the obvious mishap which had slipped in during the printing of the billboard. What exactly is “the free” and can we also have it Jos asks. He has no clue what we mean and tries to explain. Free, you know, like potato. Outside, Jos spells “F-R-I-E-S”, what you mean is Fries. The guy laughs we shake hands and head back to our hostel where a group of other travelers arrived in the meantime. They all suggest we should get some beers (something for a change) and drink on the roof terrace later. As we didn’t have some drinks for at least a whole day now we’re there straight away. The 11% Uzbek beer serves it’s job leaving some of us with the some hassle to crawl down the narrow and steep staircase of the roof.
To Tashkent
The next day we finally leave this extremely snug hostel around 4 p.m. towards Tashkent our next destination on the route. Before that we check out and despite the head we have a walk around the famous Bibi-Khanym Mosque which is not too far from our hostel. Truly impressive. Shortly after we pack our stuff and continue on the road. It is already around 6, Stefan is taking pictures out of the roof of the car as he suddenly asks Jos if he also has the impression it’s getting darker and darker. We realize that the air is getting hazier and hazier and a strong breeze comes up. Soon the reason is clear as we feel sand creaking between our teeth even inside the car – a sandstorm is raging close by. After sunset, already close to Tashkent, we experience a spectacular sheet lightning phenomenon probably also caused by these extreme weather conditions. We stop the car close to the highway, take some pictures shortly being joined by another Mongol Rally team who also take their time to experience this extraordinary view. It’s five American girls in a Ford Fiesta also on their way to Tashkent. Another rally car is waiting a few hundred meters in front. None of us ever saw something like that. Hundreds of flashes per minute without thunder or rain for more than an hour. Our convoy of three cars drives continues and we meet in a hostel which the girls recommended. To our surprise the hostel is full. Two guys from New Zealand and two Italian girls sitting on a table in the yard. We don’t have time to think as they already fill up the vodka glasses. As the hostel is booked out, instead of staying inside we setup our tent in front of the hostel on a tiny spot of lawn directly at the street. The night will be short again anyway.
The next morning we sit on a stone wall in the shade eating some cereal bars and sausage (the cornerstone of any nutritious breakfast) as an old guy approaches attracted by the the map Stefan placed on the ground before us. Where from? What is your countries name from? Where go? We show him the map and explain our route. He’s happy. He’s already half blind but still fully motivated to help those dirty foreiners who must smell like a pool hall. This nice but slightly addled man explains over and over again, coming and going three times, that the best road to Osh, Kirgistan, the city we plan to go next, is only reachable by one specific road that goes up very steep at first but assures it will go down a lot later. We’re of course invited for lunch if we’d like to.
Too tired to take any more pictures we decide to ride on. After driving for a few hours towards the mountain ranges in central Uzbekistan (described by the guy) we arrive at a checkpoint and a traffic jam caused by it near the city of Angren. We have to park our car and register ourselves as we see three guys dressed as a Chicken, a Giraffe and a Gorilla driving all people crazy. Another rally team in a Ford Fiesta. It’s three Irish guys with whom we will have a great time the next days. As we continue on the road towards the Kirgiz border the guys are the main attraction of any village we pass. Of course a Gorilla with a squirt gun drumming it’s chest while holding a wheel is drawing some attention. Everyone smiles and waves as we pass. Even the police is kind of friendly. We both miss a stop sign exiting some district area where we were supposed to register again. The cops follow us and only ask us to return and catch up on the registration. Could have been worse. Driving towards the border on 10km of a road which hardly deserves the name, the Irish are still catching up demanding everything of their Fiesta. Of course the border’s closed. We setup our camp and sleep on the ground between some trucks. For dinner it’s yummy dutch peanut meatballs with mashed potatoes and beans. All in one pot of course. Doesn’t look nice at all yet it surprisingly tasty. Keiran, Steven and Mike are a great company and we talk about photography and our experiences so far.
Kyrgyzstan
After a mild night on our camping pads under the stars we’re ready to cross the border to Kyrgyzstan. Again, everything is smooth sailing. The officers are polite albeit efficiency is not really part of the mindset all over central Asia. Our cars are scanned by a moving X-ray truck. We have to show the previous customs documents which we luckily still have dug under the passengers seat. The car check again is very light. One guy who speaks a few words of English has more interest in the release of Jos iPhone than in finding some contraband or pull a fast one on us. Dirty Mike and the boys play catch with the guard dogs and a tennis ball. No further problems and we can go on. Easy, relaxed and cool guys around here. Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan is nearly a bit too easy going for our spirit of adventure.
In Osh, our groups first task is to find some Wi-Fi, money and food. In that order. Walking on the streets scanning for Wi-Fi networks Keiran finds one that leads to some stairway in a backyard. We knock on the first door and surprisingly for all of us an American girls opens the door answering in a broad accent where we can find what we’re looking for. We find an ATM that disburses both dollars as well as Som, the local currency. We’re happy and the group comes to the mutual agreement to have some Fast Food. Pizza and Burger it is. During lunch Stefan proposes a route that would take us east to Naryn and over some mountain ranges instead going directly north to Bishkek.
As nobody has a clue, or a plan at all everybody agrees. We practice English with some local girls and drive on upon restocking our Ale supplies. It’s insane how many Mercedes W124 are still cruising around. The next hours are pure fun. Convoying over several mountain passes driving both inside and outside of the car. At some point some of us somehow end up on the roof of our Maverick while Keiran is driving up shouting something behind to Mike and Jos who apparently are having a slight coordination problem about who is steering that eventually leads to Jos steering the car into a ditch. Probably we were all little drunk from the fresh mountain air. Another car stops and together we all push the trusted Fiesta back on the road. More beautiful mountains and landscapes are passing by including a breathtaking valley. We meet a team of Austrians and Scottish in the mountains. The Austrians impress by testing their LED light on the roof that could also illuminate a whole football stadium.
We decide to stick together which proves being not so easy. We drive on unpaved roads in utter darkness hitting one pothole after another behind the three other cars which are trying to compete in a rally. The Fiesta, the Opel Agila, and the small Micra are making mincemeat of us. We have an impressive shell though being a bit more careful than the others leaves us behind. Of course they will scrap the car whereas ours has to travel back home to Germany additional 15.000 km. They have less fear to cash their car so go full throttle keeping the term Rally literally. We keep it in for an hour or two or three, hairpin after hairpin. Ultimately we cannot see anything through the dust and the big holes in the mud and we ultimately throw in the towel by honking and light signal. We decide to look for a sleeping place after a mountain pass but we’re being turned away at one place and continue searching. We drive on a small dirt road towards an area which is shimmering bright illuminated by the moon. Some small desert of some sort? We wonder what it is and after having a closer look it turns out to be a huge salt lake. We drive our cars down the talus and suddenly we a huge rock and the car is not moving anymore. Yet, again by pushing back and going full reverse we break free again and drive directly towards the lake. Beautiful sky, vast plain full moon. We shoot pictures, make a campfire and play around with a colored flashlight. It’s getting late and we hit the sack not before 3 in the morning.
Radioactive Lake
As we wake up, three men shouting outside who identify themselves as security guards. We can not or rather should not have slept here – that is clear. They speak no English but the words “Strafe” and “Danger” is rousing us up. We will soon find out why the guys are that explicit. One of the men makes a few phone calls and finally passes his phone to Stefan who is puzzled to listen to a lady who is describing herself as the aunt of the guard expressing in good and clear English that we were camping at a nuclear waste disposal site. Please go immediately and wash she says; the sand is toxic. You need to leave, leave now, she adds. Stefan tells the others and even Keiran immediately packs his stuff not without asking the guard if we would glow in the dark now. We agree on leaving now. The guards try to extract some pocket money (“Straf-Straf”), but instead we offer them candy and some meatballs. They don’t seem too happy but are not making a fuss either. Our fine dutch can food is a hard currency in Kyrgyztan as well.
On our way at another mountain pass our Maverick has it’s second flat tire which we quickly replace and continue to the next city on out way to the Yssykköl-Lake, the second largest mountain lake on earth. After a while we stop the car to take pictures at a spot which is beyond believe. A vast valley opens up. There’s rain clouds at the horizon but pure sunshine where we stand. It looks surreal, like an oil painting. Despite that spot being still incredible we continue arriving in the first city since hundreds of km’s we’re stopping at a small vulcanizer store to fix our tire. We play football and talk to the boss about our experience of last night. His eyes are becoming bigger and bigger and he tells what we already know. The salt lake is remnant from Soviet time a storage place for Russian nuclear waste. We eat in the best restaurant in town with several main dishes. A feist. Cordon bleu (Kyrgyz style, what causes some discussion between Jos and the waiter), Chinese beef, Fries etc. We do not stop for too long as we want to reach the lake today. The roads are good again. Tarmac. What a pleasure. The Irish go full throttle again – this time they can have their night-race. As we finally reach Balyktschy near Yssykköl it takes us three approaches to find a pretty camping spot near the lake. The only obstacle is an artificial earthwall which is certainly no match for us. The Irish have more problems but solve it as usual – using brute force. Keiran reverses, takes a run-up, accelerates and the Fiesta somehow flies over the wall hitting the oil pan below hard. Everything safe and sound. Tough little car. We finally find our camping spot on the beach and drift off soon. In the morning we are awakened by a guy that indicates that we are trespassing in an natural recreation area by waving a piece of paper. Protected. Forbidden. Straf-Straf. The night before Jos and Keiran had a discussion about getting up early or letting the sun wake us. Keiran didn’t rub it in really bad but could’t hide his happiness to be right in retrospect.
Jos talks to the guy. In Dutch – ignoring him making sure that we’re actually already gone and mean no harm. The rest of us packs everything as soon as possible. The guard is busy switching between talking to Jos who is distracting him and trying to prevent the rest of us from packing and leaving. 5 against 1. No chance for him. Not even 10 minutes later we’re ready to go. The guy, still desperately trying to convince Jos of paying a fine and blocking Stefan the way to the passengers seat, is getting more and more frustrated. The Irish are already in their car ready to go. Stefan opens the passengers seat, Jos jumps in and we are ready to go to. In one last attempt to prevent us from driving away the guy positions himself directly in front of our Bonnet as the Irish are chasing off. As we’re going backwards for 5 meters he eventually realizes that he has little chance. We follow the guys. Getaway action. We can continue our way and drive back to the city Balyktschy by the lake. We go shopping, get Wi-Fi access at a gas station which includes a water! closet and drive to a beach (another one this time) to wash and swim. We meet another group of rally drivers who are from Norway and Austria again and enjoy a day at the local lake beach. The next stop will be Almaty/Kazakhstan.
Kazakhstan
We drive towards the Kazakhstan border and are being stopped by a police roadblock. After haggling we still pay some baksheesh for not having the headlight on. At the border we can already see from the distance that it’s not going to be the easiest crossing. A lot of cars and trucks are stuck in the dirty and dusty border area with it’s tumbledown grey little houses. After a long wait we learn that we have to by insurance which is cheaper if bought in a group. Smells like fraud but have no choice but to buy some. When returning to our car Jos has a little quarrel with a local gentlemen who shouts at people apparently having had a few too many. He threatens and shouts waving a large stone and after Jos is shouting back in the most evil curses the Dutch language has to offer the dude actually throws a stone the size of a brick towards us only missing a few centimeters. Jos is not amused – jumps out of the car after this guy scaring him away – for now.
On the way to Almaty we’re amazed of the obvious wealth of the city, which is nothing like in the Borat-movie. Big cars, G-Class black Mercedes and Land Cruiser everywhere. Western luxury malls. As we are still in the convoy together with other Austrians and the Irish. We search for a long time for a hostel which has room for eleven people. After four times the tap, eleven people with smart phones and all kinds of apps has its effect, and we find something in the center for less through back door. We check in after all the rules to have heard of Dimitri. We arrange that we should come back later than the normal twelve hours so we can enjoy a well deserved beer. Jos and Stefan eat four burgers, the Irish have a real big T-Bone steak.
Sleeping in a hostel the first time in quite a while we have to get used to twenty people in a room. Dmitri made it even better with all its rules.