1 Oct 2014
16. Kazakhstan
With an estimated 17 million people as of 2013 Kazakhstan is the 62nd most populous country in the world, though its population density is among the lowest, at less than 6 people per square kilometre (15 people per sq. mi.). The capital is Astana where it was moved from Almaty in 1997.
“Kazakh" is derived from an ancient Turkic word meaning "independent; a free spirit", reflecting the Kazakhs' nomadic horseback culture.
Crossing the Caspian Sea proved good to have acquainted ourselves with the cyclists Jules + Marianne for some fresh company as we all soon realised that ‘entertainment’ is not a word associated upon a cargo ship. Talking of our adventures so far and what lays ahead, then an afternoon nap, then a walk around the deck, <repeat>.
The following morning the second-in-command befriended us, inviting us to his cabin for tea and chat, and with Dave having experience and interest on sailing ship engines later we get a tour of the engine bay, a hot greasy noisy area with large electrical control panels from the 1980’s and various engine parts here-n-there ready for maintenance should any be required - one area that did need maintaining were the toilets! The Manchester lads said the same about the non-flushing issue on the ferry they’d used, a disgusting sight even for the strongest of stomachs, we were told it was caused by a mother flushing nappies…now how many times has that story been told? Fortunately the crossing only took two days and after docking in Aktau we had to wait a few hours for the paperwork brigade to perform their tasks before we’re free to pass Go. Entering Kazakhstan through Aktau was about as visually exciting as entering England from Dover (sorry if you live there, or on Dover).
Making our way along the pipe work decorated roads through desert scrubland our first port of call was the train station, this proved to be a good 15 kilometres away, rather strangely on the outskirt of the city. This made me laugh, several camels hogging one side of the road while impatient drivers blare their horns to no affect whatsoever.
Within Turkey plastic bottles littered almost every foot of kerbside, but in Kazakhstan it was glass, glass bottles that had been smashed and covering just about any open areas of scrubland - and there was plenty of it! As previously a Russian state maybe it was traditional that when one finishes necking a bottle of vodka you celebrate by smashing the bottle?? It looked worse at sunset as the dwindling rays of sun light would catch the glass, highlighting just how much there was.
Jules + Marianne’s train journey was just 4 - 5 hours to the city of Beyneu 400 kilometres away wherby they’d swing a right and enter Uzbekistan, whereas our trip - at nearly 3000 kilometres - would take almost three days.
Heading further east the language ‘barrier’ had become more like a wall, with even simple sign language failing us we’re soon helped out by an English speaking local. Aralbeava translated what the ticket lady had been trying to tell us in that bicycles have to go in the separate goods wagon, firstly needing to weighed then packed by their warehouse staff a kilometre down the track. Having to depart he kindly passes us onto another friendly character, Hosi, who leads the way in his taxi to the warehouse. Here we soon find that the goods carriage will be on a separate train, becoming separated by unknown distance and time from our bicycles we all decide when boarding the train to simply play the naïve dumb tourist and take the bikes onto the sleeper carriage with us, internet research had showed other cyclists to have done this and had no problems whatsoever.
The next available train for the three of us was in two days and with the city centre being 15 kilometres away for any accommodation Hosi kindly suggested we camp at his home a couple of kilometres away. The next morning we follow Jules + Marianne to the station for their train, wanting to ensure they had no problems with their bicycles and we’d at least then know the procedure. Upon finding their specific carriage the bikes were loaded on without any fuss from the inspectors, here they are with our marvellous host.
Our task for the day was to register at the immigration police office. At least unlike with Azerbaijan, the necessity to do this was clearly marked at the customs entry port, and had to be done within five days of entering the country, even if staying for less than five days. The immigration office was as easy to find as a flea on a black dog, and the staff as useful as a chocolate tea pot, with perseverance, patience and almost having to explain how 2+3 actually makes 5 we eventually get the registration document. Around the country are huge bill-board posters advertising “Kazakhstan 2050”, the year by which they aim to be within the top five economic countries in the world, from what I’ve seen it’s gonna take a lot more than 35 years to achieve, unless they copy Azerbaijan and build false cities to simply appear more than what they are…I’ll end this digression here as I could on!
Upon arrival at Hosi’s home friends of his children had been plentiful, intrigued by who the strange cycling travellers were. Hosi was surprised that I, at 46 years old, had no children of my own - in fact many people through and onward from Turkey would soon ask the marriage / children question and seemed as surprised as he was.
The following day we bade farewell to Hosi and his family and soon find ourselves and the bikes with relative ease on the train for the three day journey to Shu, close to the Kyrgyzstan border. Unknowingly buying food for the journey we soon found out that every station would have a swarm of food sellers appear at the trackside ready satisfy the needs of everyone, some sold fruit, some drinks and cigarettes, some hot dishes, this was a potato and meet dish – served into my bowl as opposed to the normal small plastic bag!
With each coach on the train having a supervisor ours tries to call my bluff by asking for $50 for each of the bikes and mentioning the word “police”, I tell him if there is a problem then the police can come and police the situation - If he’d asked for a more respectable amount of say $10 each we would have gladly paid but Mr Greedy gets nothing.
With four beds in each cabin and being just three of us it was probable we’d be joined by someone. Our fellow traveller was heading to Almaty, further down the line from us so we took the opportunity to get to know him, again, the language barrier restricting conversation but nevertheless everyone seemed happy.
Some of the track-side wildlife.
The train chugging along through the monotonous desert scrubland. Toward the end of the second day refreshing greenery and hills start to appear, a reminder of the mountainous terrain that was closing in.
With some of the stops being only for a few minutes and having three bikes and copious panniers to pass down, with our destination due at 4am on the Wednesday morning, the night before we pre-pack our bags and set the alarm, ready for a military-like evacuation. Departing the train at the station felt like a cold November morning in blighty. Although it was still dark the area certainly had that stereotypical look and feel that a westerner expects from an ex soviet state. The petrol station was an eye opener! Not one security guard but two old boys, each of them carrying guns that looked like sawn-off shot guns, petrol theft from there would be like signing your own death warrant.
Planning to arrive at Bishkek that day meant a longish ride of ~130 kilometres so starting early in the cold meant we soon had a fast pace underway and were chewing kilometre’s nicely, one of the few ‘attractions’ along the way was this metal rod yurt frame.
The long drawn out sections with nothing but fields in between enabled us to continue are fast pace pretty much all the way to the Kyrgyzstan border, whereby entry gave a pleasant surprise.
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