Total kms to date: 14,600 km
Latest update: 2nd September 2010
Current location: Dushanbe, Tajikistan, where even Cat has reluctantly admitted exhaustion! But what a place to finally feel the effects of 17 months of cycling and camping: the terrifyingly overpriced and crumbling hotels of Dushanbe then the great peaks of the Pamirs.
We dream of our home-from-home, Kashgar Downtown Youth Hostel and a great little restaurant we know (aubergine fried in garlic, winter cabbage, green vegetables, chilli tofu and four bowls of rice, please). Only 4 weeks and a thousand kilometres until we get back to Kashgar ... and this time we'll remmeber not to order the big plate of chopped up chicken carcass that sent Cat into culinary shock
PHOTOS OF THE WEEK
Not “The Dance of the Seven Veils” but the “Dance of the Seven Rips and counting...” Cat has cultivated "the poor and eccentric look" to perfection but now it's time to find a new tailor.
And all these dinners of rice and lentils or pasta with sardines and tomato are paying off for the Australian Hercules. Shame about Tajikistan communications network.
Next stop: The Pamir Highway in all its spectacular mountains and spectacularly bad road glory. We'll be back online with all our Pamir adventures in 3-4 weeks, folks!
Quote of the week
“Many tourists look at our hotel rooms and say they don’t want to stay here,” – neither did we, Sir! Anyone looking for a business opportunity: a guesthouse in Dushanbe with backpacker/cyclist-budget rooms would be a goldmine!
“Soy lattes here we come” – we’re pretty excited to get to Dushanbe which we have been reliably informed has a Segafreddo cafe for coffee, good music and wifi.
“I want to be on an exercise bike, not this wind tunnel. With a Diet Coke and "Good Morning Australia with Bert Newton",” – Adam’s enthusiasm for adventure wanes after 2 days of headwinds and relentless uphill.
“30 degrees? It’s cold!” – Scarily, we’ve become accustomed to Uzbekistan summer just as we’re about to head to the cold mountains of Tajikistan.
The mountains begin again – 29th August
Cat tries to downplay steep uphill or bad roads as “a bit of a challenge” and we knew Tajikistan had its fair share of challenges in store for us. But even her enthusiasm waned on The Shariston Pass and had her wondering why she’d insisted we go to the northernmost border post of Oybek instead of just crossing in at Penjikent like normal cyclists?
After three hours of climbing, unable to take our hands off the handlebars to wave at the passing truck drivers and having to stop to drink, we made it to the top. Checking our odometers, we’d done 15 km in 3 hours. It felt like an eternity
The 9km of steep downhill wasn’t much better but made for some spectacular photos.
Even more spectacular, the downhill continued and it was tarmac all the way to Dushanbe thanks to the Chinese road workers. “The People’s Republic: paving the world.”
“I have something to confess but I’ll tell you once the trip is over,” Adam said sheepishly.
“You nearly went over the edge!” Cat shrieked. Yup, Adam'd cut a corner on the Shariston Pass just as a truck was coming up, overcompensated and bounced off the guardrail. With this in mind, we continued on for the Anzob Pass and its notorious and noxious tunnel. His chances of being permitted another drastic downhill descent were being considered....
A few years ago, there was an accident inside the Anzob tunnel and people suffocated to death. We needed to hitch a truck through but “Nyetu, mister” was the answer from each driver at the police checkpoint. Three hours later Adam paid the police 5 somoni ($1.25) and within ten minutes we had our gear on a truck. We missed the great and precarious climb up to Anzob but it was worth the safety of having the truck.
Inside the tunnel, the fumes swirled around, barely lit by one bulb from the ceiling and deep, water-filled potholes sent the truck lurching. We could smell the fumes and pitied the two breakdowns we saw. Our driver had the pedal to the metal and the four of them kept swearing, “Ozbagh!” (The Tajik word for crazy is Uzbek!”).
Coming out of the tunnel, we were greeted by spectacular valley falling far below us and nearly went over the edge of the road thanks to a dodgy driver coming the other way. Tajik roads are hair-raising fun!
Goodbye Uzbekistan, Salom Tajikistan! – 25th August
The roadmap looked pretty simple for getting from Jizzakh in Uzbekistan to the Tajikistan border post at Oybek/Buston. Then we got distracted by hot bread shops (issiq non!)
And the good company of Sarah and Peter, German cyclists we’d met as we left Samarkand. www.sabbiketial.blogspot.com
We had a good run on near-abandoned back roads. Kids waved at us from their swimming pools (irrigation pipes alongside the roads) or herded sheep and cows. Somehow, we managed to find a quiet camping spot away from the all calls of “Good morning!” and “Francia?” (At least it's a change from Germania?!)
The directions from locals contradicted our maps and sent us around Bekkabad, town of a trillion power lines. It also had a fetching monument of an Uzbek woman. “Even she has a monobrow!” We’ve met many ladies who have the traditional sign of beauty here, or draw it on.
After a long and circuitous route, we entered the checkpoint at Oybek and the moment Cat had been dreading: the request for our hotel registration papers.
In Uzbekistan all foreigners stay in registered hotels/ B&B every night and we hadn’t got around to forging a couple of our papers to cover our camping nights. (Our plan was to forge a couple of dates then shuffle the papers out of order.)
The official asked Cat something and made a rooftop gesture above his head. “My headscarf?” Cat was all wide-eyed innocence. He tried again. She smiled and added unhelpfully but enthusiastically, “We go Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, and Tajikistan!” He gave up and we were through to Tajikistan.
Near Buston a man came screaming out of his truck yard, “Çay-çay-çay!” As always, we couldn’t resist the offer of tea. Our simple lentils and rice became a feast of watermelon, yoghurt, shanks of mutton, bread and mineral water.
“Did you think we’d spend our first night in Uzbekistan sitting at a dining table?” Luxury has no bounds!
Our Peloton
12 minutes into a beautiful day on a flat and new road, pedalling along thinking about Samarkand only 20km way, Adam fell off the road, hit gravel and crashed back onto the road. Unable to stop and not wanting to swerve Cat made a millisecond decision: Adam versus his bike? Adam. (He’s bendier than his bike which has enough chunks and grazes out of the frame and handlebars).
After riding over him, she wobbled and crashed as well. There were tears of sympathy for Adam’s bad cuts and grazes. “I never want to run over you again!” she sobbed.
But never again will she be hassled for not slipstreaming properly! The one occasion she got it right like a peloton pro? Tres disaster!
We hobbled into Samarkand where Guesthouse Antica offered us mattresses on the floor for $35. We declined and a kid offered to show us somewhere nearby, if he could ride on Adam’s handlebars.
Our Samarkand refuge was the brand-new hotel, Hotel Global Star, for the same price with aircon, little pool and lovely family to look after us while Adam recovered. Only to cut his foot the morning we were leaving. Shame, we had to stay another day in a bit of luxury!
Iskander’s trail continues
We are still following the trail of Alexander the Great, Iskander. The veritable Lonely Planet described his castle at Nurata as a sand castle overlooking the city. So we did a three day detour en route to Samarkand to visit it. Though we’ve started to lose enthusiasm for flat roads and hot headwinds.
This area of Uzbekistan was “The Hungry Steppe” by the Russians, but it wasn’t so much as hungry as thirsty for us. Carrying 8L to last the day but we keep underestimating our thirst!
Up and over a piddly little 700m mountain range, not really a “mountain” but coming up and over form sea level and running out of water, well, yeah it was an uphill challenge. We started considering the plastic water bottles lying beside the road, Adam found one a quarter full and we saved it for Plan B...
Luckily, Plan A worked: flag down the first car that looked like it had aircon; a better chance than the clapped-out share taxis crammed with people. Sure enough, the cool dudes driving the black Chevrolet had bottled water. Only a short ride into headwind and 2% gradient until we got to the next village and could fill up at the village spring, much to the goldfishes’ displeasure to have their water supply drained!
The next morning we set out early for Iskander’s Qala (Alexander's Castle) at Nurata. We got lost in the backstreets of the town and wondered why nobody seemed to know where Iskander’s Qala was. Finally someone gave us directions and we understood.
“Sand castle?!” Cat was disappointed, “Looks like someone came along and kicked it over. Big pile of dirt that’s all.” Lonely Planet strikes out again.
We had to force ourselves to go and see the big pile of dirt. To be fair to Iskander, he did pretty well to capture this hilltop fort. The outer walls are a steep climb and, if you “use your imagination” it’s reasonably pretty impressive construction. Still, when you’re on two wheels it needs to be pretty bloody impressive to make it worth our while. (Please bear that in mind, Lonely Planet authors!)
The joys of backroads are the people we meet and the gifts of food we're given.
The village of Mitan was a pearl. We capitulated and had lunch with a couple of local men and bearing in mind the warning never, ever to drink with anyone in Central Asia, we thought we could handle the situation when the codka bottle inevtiably appeared!
Then the old bloke got trolleyed fer 3 shots, started headbutting Adam and tried to stela our camera. And our host wasn't sure whether to be offended or laugh when Adam filled up his own glass with water and tea instead of vodka. We left Mitan and spent the afternoon recovering under a tree.
The Great Game
We’ve been on The Great Game trail of British and Russian explorers since Pakistan and it might sound a bit bloodthirsty, but we were excited to come to Bukhara to see the site of a famous demise of two Great Game explorers.
The Emir of Bukhara was a notoriously capricious and bloodthirsty fellow. Charles Stoddart was unusual for a Great Gamer; rather than travelling in disguise or being mindful of his manners on this occasion he rode his horse to meet the Emir with all the pompousness of a Brit of the Raj.
Incensed at the insult, the Emir of Bukhara accused Stoddart of being a spy and had him chucked into an insect-infested pit to fester. Not even when Stoddart converted to Islam was he released. When the enterprising and brave young Arthur Connolly arrived to negotiate Stoddart’s freedom, he met his fellow Brit ... down the pit. He was also accused of being a spy. In 1842, Stoddart was beheaded in the Main Square as the Emir and crowds looked on.
Connolly watched Stoddart’s decapitation then refused the Emir’s offer to convert to Islam and save his own life. He announced it hadn’t saved Stoddart from his fate so here you go chaps, Connolly gallantly offered them his neck. The Emir happily accepted.
Sand blown! - 8th August
Our attempt to join the highway to cross the Kyzlkum desert, Khiva to Bukhara, was almost thwarted by policemen telling us "Most, nyetu," No bridge. The Amu-Darya river swept away some of the barges that were the bridge. Luckily for us, enterprising boatmen were on hand to charge us $2 each for a 45 second ride from bank to the end of the barges, saving us a 100km detour to join the highway.
"6 a.m. and 28 degrees..."
We knew that the the Kyzlkum would test our mental fortitude, not to mention motivation to rise at 5 a.m and be on the road before 6a.m! The bleached expanse of sand and scrubland would only give us a few hours before the Celsius hit ‘discomfort’ level.
By 11a.m. the truck drivers had taken shelter under their vehicles and it was only us, a few sun-stunned lizards and an errant hitchiker on the road
Adam's cycling soundtrack is The Eagles, and he tried to think about dark desert highways and cool wind in his hair instead of the 42.8 degrees before lunchtime.
The highway more or less followed the Amu-Darya river, used by the Russians to enter the lands of the formidable Khans of Khiva and Bukhara. But the river wasn't close to the highway so we carried as much water as we could from one tea house to the next.
We’ve been reading Peter Hopkirk's ‘The Great Game’ since Pakistan and felt for the Russian and British adventurers and slaves who braved these climes; especially on our first day out of Turtkul. We set up our lean-to shelter between our bikes with our 2 groundsheets from our tents, stripped down, and tried to sleep away the hottest 5 hours.
Stale bread gritty with sand, repetitive thoughts of a cold drink and melon, but unbearably hot water instead.
We went through 20L water on the first day (happy to have our 10L water bags on board) and relied on road crews for cool water. They keep their water jugs wrapped in wet hessian and are adept at dealing with the desert: one bloke informed us they'd been working on these roads for 10 years. We refrained from telling them to get a wriggle on because we needed another bottle of water from them!
After the first 100km from Turtkul, we found caykhanas, tea houses, to spend lunchtimes and fill up waterbags in the evenings. They have an ingenious solution to the problem of plastic bottles; soon there will be a Great Wall of Plastic
Uzbek hospitality continued all the way to Bukhara. One caykhana gave us free salad and Coca Cola when the staff saw us carefully calculating how to spend our last 12,000 som ($6)
Uzbek Hospitality - 4th August
"There are two negroes on bicycle. You speak english, go and find out where they are from!" This was the instruction from the villagers of Elliq Qala to Hamid, the local English teacher. To his credit he caught us while we were taking advantage of a tailwind and energy boost of a 'Best' icecream, and invited us back to his home.
Hamid and Cat swapped bicycles for the ride back to the village.
Hamid's family welcomed us with a huge meal. His wife and sisters insisted Cat take a shower and we siesta after lunch. We were only too happy to comply!
Khiva: big walls and big hats - 2nd August
We fell in love with Khiva's Ichon Qala, old city, and our bikes posed beautifully as always.
Khiva was the notorious slave trading capital of The Silk Road. The Emirs weren't pleased to be pawns in The Great Game: Russia's efforts to find a route into India and Britain's efforts to find them first and defend. The khanates of Khiva, Bukhara, Samarkand and Khokand were key to passage through the deserts into the Pamirs & Karakorum mountains.
In 1717, The Emir of Bukhara received Count Bekovich, emissary of Peter the Great who had ignored the Emir's requests to become a vassal of Russia. Bekovich was tricked into camping outside the gates, decapitated, his head stuffed with straw and sent to the Emir's great rival, The Emir of Bukhara.
By the 1800s, the Emirs of Khiva were more welcoming to emissaries of both sides, proudly bragging of having 20 guns and letting their visitors keep their necks. They even released all Russian slaves to the British who marched them across the desert to the Russians as a goodwill gesture and a 'got one over you' gesture of Great Game diplomacy.
No slaves to sell these days so people resort to seeling trinkets and big hats. Could this double as a bike helmet?
Or hide a bad hair day (plenty of those on the road!)
Tashkent - 30th July
Running away from police has never been our plan but Uzbekistan is notorious for corruption, obsession with hotel registrations and dokumenti. It's a country to be handing over a kopi! rather than actual passport!
After paying our bribe to the Kazakhs, meeting the TB doctor on the Uzbek side and taking 20 minutes to fill out 4 customs forms perfectly, we made it to the Chinese embassy in time to submit our visa applications before 12:00 on a Friday (they open Mon, Weds & Fri, 9-12 only, wonderful timing) There was no time to make extra copies of our passports so we took a huge risk and submitted our last copies with our application.
The embassy offered - incredibly- a 5 hour visa service so within 8 hours we’d left Tashkent on a 20 hour overnight train, having been diddled on the exchange rate (first time this trip!) and run away from police on two occasions because we didn’t have dokumenti or any money to pay them bribes.
Uzbek money is som and only comes in 1000 som notes, the equivalent of 50 cents. So changing money is an exercise in hiding bricks of cash.
The police wave their little orange batons and we pick up speed, ignoring their whistles and trusting they’re too lazy to leave the shade of a tree, get in their car and chase us. “Have you noticed there are no motorbikes here?” Mark, a local NGO worker, asked, “They’re banned because the police can’t catch them.”
Corruption a.k.a wage enhancement is endemic. We had to pay the train conductor $10 to be allowed to put our bikes on the train, despite having bike tickets. When we tried to be discreet the conductor gleefully counted it out in front of the other passengers! Welcome to Uzbekistan!
Our Statistics (updated 10th June 2010)
Puncture tally: Adam 12, Catherine 7 - none since ditching our Continental tyres for German Schwalbe. das ist gut, ja?
Equıpment tally: Snapped bottle cage and crushed waterbottle under the back wheel(Adam 1), ripped pannıer (Adam 3, Cat 2), lost pannier clips (Cat 2), lost rack screws (Adam 2, Cat 3), stretched saddle after losing/snapping saddle tension bolt (Adam 2), bent saddle tension bolt (Adam 1), snapped saddle tension bolt (Adam 1) loose handlebar stem (Adam 1), the rear of padded shorts nibbled at by an unknown animal (Adam 1), broken spoke (Adam 1), frozen & snapped brake pads (Adam 4, Cat 2)
Downhill speed records (kmh): Adam 74.4, Catherine 56.4
Thank you!
Credit and a huge thank you for our new banner at the top of our webpage (Sarangkot lookout with views of Annapurna Range, Adam and Heidi, and Cat hiding behind the tent) goes to our friend and talented Belgian photographer/cyclist/writer/cartographer, Steven Geirnaert http://oostblog.wordpress.com
Welcome to our adventure
We are Adam Thomas and Catherine Mojsiewicz, two Australians who by sheer concidence amongst the thousands of Aussies here, met in London. On 31st March 2009 we set off from north London on our cycling trip home to Australia.
Cat has been dreaming about overlanding home for eleven years, before she even left Australia, after listening to an interview with a motorcyclist on Triple J radio in 1998 and hearing his travelling song of choice: The Triffids, "Wide Open Road".
Adam's reaction of "you've got to be joking!" turned into a concerted research effort into bikes and camping gear, so much so that he missed a flight just to keep shopping at the camping store. Bargain hunting runs in his family which bodes well for our forays into every carpet shop between here and Australia.
Hope you'll join us for our journey.
